


Catch My Fall

by iNyxxis



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8679586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iNyxxis/pseuds/iNyxxis
Summary: AU after canon events of Season 7 of Buffy and Season 5 of Angel. Centered on Spike and an unknown Slayer. After all he's been through with Buffy, can he ever love another? Introduction arcs, Book One.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy the Vampire slayer and Angel, the characters and universe is the property of Joss Whedon, and is not my intellectual property.There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only. However, the original characters and story is my own. 
> 
> All seasons of Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel is canon, with some aspects of but not all of the comics appearing as well. This comes about two years after the end of Angel, three years after the end of Buffy. I haven’t really written much fanfiction before, and never any Buffyverse previously. This story is at first set tin the fictional town of Haven, a few hours from where Sunnydale was. However, I absolutely love Spike, and I hope I do him some justice. This isn’t edited at all, so I apologize, I’m just releasing chapters as I have them, which I’ll probably regret later if I want to change something. Thanks for reading, feel free to let me know what you think.

**Prologue**

Jade stood on the hill, looking over the graveyard. The mist sunk there, clouding the view, barely penetrated by the moon’s bright beams. She was cold, hugging herself for some warmth through her denim jacket as her pale blue eyes scoured the scene. Her pale skin still held traces of dust, a light layer of grime. Her brown hair tumbled out of her ponytail in further disarray, but she was otherwise unscathed. She had won this night. She was alive. At least for now. She shivered, perhaps at the thought or at the cold, when she heard the distinct scraping of dirt beneath her. One hand moved to her hip, fingers resting on the hilt of her sheathed machete, but as she turned, she relaxed.

“Fyora.” She spoke to the approaching woman, an eyebrow raised in curiosity at the cloaked figure. The woman was even smaller than Jade, standing at barely five feet, a couple of unruly curls sinking out from beneath her hood. The darkness obscured most of her face, except for her small mouth and cleft chin, but she knew her well enough to recognize her visible features. Jade knew her from the orphanage, the slightly strange keeper of the children who lived there. They weren’t friends, but business and circumstance had caused them to cross paths from time to time. “Out for a midnight walk?” She continued, interest just cutting into her flat tone.

“Came to see you,” Fyora answered, in a husky voice that seemed out of character in a person that was delicately small—despite being the supervisor of the orphanage, Jade knew the woman had been mistaken for an orphan herself from time to  time. But size was deceiving, and Jade knew better than to make judgements based on that. There was in truth, something mystical about the other woman, something bewitching and otherworldly. But Jade hadn’t pried, or investigated. She was aware enough to recognize it, but that was it. Jade wasn’t in any position to judge the supernatural essence of others.

Jade narrowed her eyes slightly. She assumed Fyora was asking her to babysit, as she had before. There wasn’t much of a board watching the largely abandoned Orphanage, and Jade had deigned to watch the kids from time to time—with a hefty fee. She wasn’t much for children, but damning sympathy and the need for money broke through her resilient skin on occasion. “Another gig?” She spoke finally, deciding to not be too difficult about the whole thing—though she’d raise the price this time. The orphans were a troublesome bunch, who were far from the notion of ‘normal’, and she wanted her drudgery to be worth it. However, Fyora’s earlier requests had usually come during the day, when Jade was working. Within the confines of a liquor store, not out here in the murky atmosphere of an empty graveyard “Came all the way out to the gra—“

Before she could finish her sentence, Fyora’s hand shot out beneath her cloak. As fast as her reaction was, Jade only jerked her hand back, but not enough to escape Fyora’s strong, wiry fingers enclosing around her wrist. Normally, it wouldn’t have stopped Jade. Despite Fyora’s strange aura, she was human, and Jade was something more. But she couldn’t quite wrench her grasp away, feeling a strange wetness and dampness on her skin from where the other woman was holding her. Jade’s eyes shot down, and even through the darkness, she saw the unmistakable color of the viscous fluid, the stickiness of it on her skin. Blood. “Let go,” Jade was warning her, but her words died on her lips, as she looked back up to other woman. Her hood had fallen back, uncovering her face, and Jade could see the splatters of blood dripping down her face, her cheekbones. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, and sticky, blood-infused curls sprung around her face. “What the—“

Fyora’s head tipped back, her mouth open as she chanted in empty monotone. “ _The young we’ll chain, the small we’ll drain. Drain, drain, drain. In the circle, they will die. Answer, answer their cry.”_ Her impervious grip on Jade, that Jade had still yet to break, finally loosened, and the cloaked figure crumpled to the ground. Equal parts alarmed and horrifically fascinated, Jade knelt with her. For all of Fyora’s violent grip, she didn’t seem dangerous. Unable to satiate her curiosity, Jade reached out for the woman, whose head had tipped back. “What—“ Jade tried again, her half-muttered word interrupted as Fyora’s chin slowly swung down, eyes still wide and unseeing, once more reaching towards Jade and with a shaking, bloody finger, she painted the curve of Jade’s cheek with the dark red streak. “I’m sorry,” Fyora whispered then, with a tinge of her humanity in the devastation cracking in her voice, before opening her mouth, wide, in a horrific, wailing scream that cut through the cold air and through Jade’s skin, piercing into her skin, so loud, inhuman.

Jade shot up in bed, the sound of the scream still echoing in her ears as she shook her head to rid herself of it, shaking the last remnants of the dream away. She laid her hand on her chest, feeling her heart beat rapidly, thrumming underneath her hot skin. She shivered, cold as the blankets laid rumpled around her, but her skin was covered in a layer of sweat. She took a moment to catch her breath, eyes wide as she took in the darkness of her empty room. She ran her hand up through her mussed hair, which fell wildly around her shoulders, finally breaking the silence with a whisper. “Damn.”

 


	2. Chapter One

1

Jade was sitting at the kitchen table, her fingers enclosed around a cup of coffee, when the door opened, and she glanced up to reveal a very ruffled looking female, her roommate; Lythia’l. She appeared a disheveled woman, her short black hair ruffled, a peeved expression on her otherwise elegantly-boned face. She was quite beautiful, with her olive tanned skin and large brown eyes, but Jade knew there was more to her than an ordinary human would see. Her pearly white teeth were unusually strong—and sharp, and her soft, deerlike eyes were in actuality, naturally a vivid blue, brighter and darker than Jade’s own. These were a few aspects of Lythia’l that were not quite right, for despite her human appearance, she wasn’t human at all. Beneath her beautiful outlying skin was a redder, more veiny shell that was her natural skin. What she grew now was to appear to be human, but Jade knew what laid beneath. Lythia’l was a Mok’tagar demon, and it was Jade’s knowledge of this that allowed them to peacefully coexist.

After all, they had both come to Haven to hide. Lythia’l, from another realm, where her kind lived, and Jade, well, she had her own reasons. They knew enough to live with each other, and though it had taken some getting used to, she had garnered an understanding with the demon, almost enough to call her a friend. Lythia’l had escaped from her dimension a score of years ago, calling it a ‘quick break’, though with a race that lived as long as hers, Jade found that a century or so of their lives was rather insignificant to them. Lythia’l had adapted well enough to living as a human, calling herself Elizabeth among humans’ company, and worked as a school teacher during the day. But at night, she sought haunts with her fellow demons, and Jade knew that was where she had been that night, guessing exactly what had transpired from the discomfited expression on the demon’s face.

“Lose at cards again?” Jade asked amiably, thankful the shake had gone from her tone. She had sat at the table for some time, trying to make sense of the dream that had gripped her. It was too real to just be shaken off as something she ate or something her mind just made up, and she knew to try to pin it on that would be a naïve thing to do. She had to take it seriously, as much as it disturbed her. 

Lythia’l let out a huff, hanging up her leather jacket next to Jade’s denim one, and Jade’s eyes flicked to it, half expecting to see the blood-stain from her dream, but it was untouched. It had been in her dream, nothing more. “It’s that damn vamp again. Ever since he started coming I haven’t won a single game. None of us have. I haven’t gotten any kittens in weeks.” Lythia’l pouted, ringing her fingers through her short hair. At that moment, a quiet ‘mrow’ sounded, and a soft head bumped Jade’s leg. “Maybe that’s a good thing. We have enough cats as it is.” Jade said with the barest amusement. The bizarre art of gambling with kittens had left their apartment with four cats, to Lythia’l’s chagrin, as she found no use with them after they outgrew the kitten stage, and Jade, who preferred animals to people, had refused to hear of getting rid of them. 

“Once you finally get it that we don’t need to hold onto the infernal things, then maybe you’ll get the—“ Lythia’l had finally turned to face her, leaning forward to grab her own chair at the kitchen table—though it was a small, pitiful rounded thing, uneven and stained—that she finally glanced at Jade and frowned. Jade blanched. Lythia’l was sensitive enough when she wanted to be, more observational than absentminded humans. She looked Jade up and down with a critical eye. “You’re not usually up this late. It’s three in the morning. And you look terrible.”

“Thank you.” Lythia’l wasn’t known for her tact, and Jade gave her a mirthless smile as she raised her coffee cup to her lips. Her calf was rubbed again, and this time Jade reached down to scratch the cat’s soft back, who curled up her tail in appreciation. But she was dropping her gaze to hide from Lythia’l’s searching one. 

“It was a dream.” Jade said briskly after a brief pause. Lythia’l’s tenacity and impatient curiousity meant that she would hound Jade for answers, so staying reticent wasn’t in her best interest. “That’s all. It was just… odd.”

“Dreams, huh?” Lythia’l flicked her teeth with her tongue, the expectant look fading from her face. “Well you dream all the time—I hear you talking through the walls. But they don’t usually shake you. But hey—“ inspiration flashed across her face. “This one wasn’t like the others. Real, right? Isn’t that a sla—“  
At Jade’s sharp look, Lythia’l stopped mid word, flashing her a sharp, but otherwise apologetic smile. “Sorry. Forgot you don’t like that word. But it is… that thing, right? A prophetic dream? What was in it? Was I in it? I didn’t get found out did, I? I just settled in here, I don’t want to move again.” Lythia’l had in fact, been in Haven a full decade longer than Jade had, but it seemed as short as a blink of an eye to her. Jade shook her head wordlessly. “Something to do with the orphanage, I think. Their Keeper, Fyora was in my dream.”   
“That shifty little witch? I don’t doubt it.”

“There was something she said… I don’t know what exactly it means.” Jade curled her fingers around her coffee cup, which was now empty. The young we’ll chain, the small we’ll drain. Drain, drain, drain. In the circle, they will die. Answer, answer their cry. She shivered. It sounded more like a nursery rhyme than anything important. Well, not a happy one, more to the grim tunes of “in-flu-enza.” It was too close in her mind to bear repeating, and she doubted Lythia’l would take it seriously.   
“But you’re not just going to forget it, are you?” 

“No,” Jade answered in a long, drawn-out syllable, as much as she wanted to, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get it off her mind, and just ignoring it wasn’t an option.   
“So what are you going to do?”

“Go by the orphanage, see if anything’s out of wack, I guess. Tomorrow, after work.” She looked down at her watch. “Today, after work,” Jade corrected.   
“Well if it’ll make you feel better.” Lythia’l yawned, blinking her wide eyes that for a second flashed blue, before resuming their human form’s brown hue. “Just be careful. You’re, well you know, but you’re still human.” She pushed up from the table, long fingers pulling at the scarf around her elegant neck, stroking it absentmindedly in her hands. “But you know, it could just be you. You worry too much, you know. Shut up in here. You should think of coming to poker night with me sometime, loosen up.”  
“I thought you weren’t having any fun since that vampire started playing and stealing all the kittens.”  
“Cheating, bleach blonde punk,” Lythia’l exclaimed, her irritation flaring up again, and Jade smiled at Lythia’l’s departing back, rubbing her temple with her fingers. Jade sat at the table, listening to Lythia’l’s muffled mumblings from her own bedroom, until long after it quieted, and her roommate had finally settled down to sleep. Jade sighed. She was in the one place where she could escape, slip away from notice, hide beneath the radar in Haven, and yet it was still catching up with her. As much as she tried to ignore her—destiny? Her origins? They caught up with her, they always did.

 

“Jade, just go.” 

“Huh—what, sorry?” Jade snapped her head from where she was stocking beer bottles towards her boss, Eddie, a tall, thin man with long red hair. He would have seemed even younger than his mid twenties, a teenager almost, if not for his facial hair, which he probably grew to prove that he was in fact an adult, and capable of running a store. He was fair enough, didn’t prod or ask too many questions. He manned the front, most of the sales, and Jade handled most of the receiving, stocking. He knew of her strength, and its asset, though they never spoke of it. It was the virtue of Haven, that strange things could be left unsaid. She pulled off her headphones, though the music hadn’t been playing all day. She hadn’t pressed play, her diskman laying quietly on her hip. She had been thinking of her dream, replaying the scene constantly in her head, trying to banish the shivers she felt on her skin. She couldn’t pretend not to be bothered, the vivid scene she had been shown chilled her to the bone. She could still feel the stickiness of blood on her skin.   
And so, she had been more than a little distracted this day. Her normally excellent reflexes had failed her when she had accidentally tipped and dropped a full box of beer. Eddie wasn’t the sort to penalize her by taking it off her cheque, but it was still a mistake that she didn’t make often. And she had put bottles back in the wrong place more than once. He looked at her, not irked, but a resigned expression in his hazel-green eyes. "I said go. You’re not here, you’ve barely been all day. And I know you’re not one to ask for time off, so just head out. I can handle the rest of your shift.”

Jade straightened up, brushing stray hairs away from her forehead as she looked back at him. She nodded. She was mostly useless anyway, today. And she did have things on her mind. She wanted to talk to Fyora. And warn her? She still wasn’t sure from her dream if Fyora was the victim or the problem. Or if she was even involved at all, not just some thought that was floating in Jade’s head. “I appreciate it. Sorry, I’ll be less distant for my next shift.”

“Just go, it’s fine.” Eddie said amiably. “Haven’t much business today anyway. Just deal with whatever’s troubling you, alright?” He slunk away, leaving Jade standing there for another moment, thoughts still running in her head. Shaking it away, she gathered her things, shoving her Walkman into her backpack. Leaving the liquor store and blinking at the bright sun, she walked over to her motorcycle, a black Yamaha star from 2001 that was one of her only material possessions that mattered to her. If she had to run and leave Haven today, all she needed was this bike.

The Haven’s orphanage was on the outskirts of town, uphill and every bit the cliché looking institution of horror movies. Few things in Haven were new, and the orphanage was no exception. Jade pulled her jacket closer around her, feeling the cold as she walked up to the front doors. At her buzz, there was silence and then thumping, and Jade found her heart was beating faster. Her fingers twitched, wishing for her weapon, but she wasn’t decked out, like she would be at night, nothing on her but a small dagger, resting in her backpack. Though her hands were weapons on their own. 

The door swung open, revealing one of the orphans. She was ten or eleven, with dark skin and large black eyes that lit up upon seeing Jade. Her name was Neva, and the cheerful thing was always more than happy whenever Jade came to visit.

“Jade!” Her young face broke into a wide smile. “You came to visit?”

“Something like that.” Jade spoke. Being around children made her uncomfortable, but she made a conscious effort to try not to act like an ass. Children were young and obnoxious, loud and impulsive, but she didn’t need to be cruel. She kept her distance for the most part, but couldn’t completely ignore them. Haven was a well, Haven for those who wanted to be forgotten, but she didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to live there as a child. “Is Fyora in? I want to talk to her.”  
Neva nodded empathetically, stepping back from the door and allowing Jade to step in. “She’s in her office,” she bounced along with Jade as they walked through the hall. It wasn’t quite dilapidated, but the building was old, dusty, with cobwebs hanging from corners and a couple of cracks in the hall. It wasn’t unsafe, just dirty. The orphanage wasn’t at its full capacity either, with less than two dozen kids, and mainly just Fyora to watch them. 

“It’s so nice you came today. Did you come to say goodbye?”

Jade stalled, stopping on the back of her heel as she swivelled back towards Neva, who looked up at her with her large eyes and a bright smile. “Goodbye?” Jade questioned.  
“Well, yeah. We’re getting adopted. Fyora found homes for me, Rachel, Lisa, Gunner and Sophie. She’s taking us tonight. Not in Haven though, so I won’t see you anymore, but—“  
“All five of you? Getting adopted? Have you met the families?” Jade frowned, her brow furrowing deeper at Neva’s unconcerned, happy shake.   
“No, but Fyora says they’re lovely, and they’ll take good care of us. She’s taking us tonight.”

That didn’t seem right, and Jade’s misgivings increased. They reached the end of the hall, where Fyora had appropriated one of the rooms to make as her office, her door open. Jade could see her through the doorway, dressed simply in a button up blouse, curly hair tucked, for the most part, out of her face, rifling through her papers. Jade’s breath grew a bit ragged, remembering how Fyora had looked, wrapped in her cloak as blood dripped down her cheeks. “Hey,” Jade called as she approached, and Fyora’s head jerked up. Her expression was clear, if there was any worry, it was hidden by the smaller woman’s casual smile. “Oh, Jade. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Came to pop in.” Jade looked back behind her, Neva still hovering expectantly. “Thanks for the escort. Adults got to talk for a bit, okay kid?”  
Neva pouted, then nodded, her mass of black hair bobbing with her. But before she turned to go, she had a hopeful expression on her face. “Did you bring anything?” She asked. Jade had brought treats from time to time, when she had something extra to give. Without expression, she reached into her backpack, pulling out the package of twizzlers she had bought that day. She was bit of a sucker, it was true, but Neva’s expression lit up with glee as they were tossed to her, and she grabbed at them eagerly. “Thanks!” She shrilled, hands working to break through the plastic.

“Share those with the others.” Jade coached at the child’s departing back, before turning towards Fyora, who was holding some files in her hand, a light, expectant smile on her lips.   
“They love the little gifts you bring them. Careful, I know you say you don’t like children, but they’ll follow you if you keep doing that.” Fyora spoke in a friendly tone, and Jade tried to banish the memory of her shrill scream. Fyora certainly seemed normal, in a 60s housewife sort of way. All she was missing was a flower dress, and well, a husband. She was always polite and kept to herself, overseeing a group of strange children in an even stranger town. There was always something odd about it. “Did you need something?” Fyora added, after Jade’s prolonged silence. Jade blinked once, hard, to jar her thoughts and focus.

“Just wanted to check up. Hadn’t heard anything about here for a while.” She would have thought since coming to the orphanage had consumed her thoughts all day, she could have thought up a better excuse, but she was too wound up in her dream. And now, since she was here, a strange feeling was crawling over her skin, warning her from being too forth bearing. She had thought that perhaps she should warn Fyora of the dream, of what had been said, but now she wasn’t too sure. She remembered the way it felt when Fyora had snagged on her arm, and despite Jade’s strength, she hadn’t been able to shake her. That wasn’t a warm feeling either. “Neva says she’s getting adopted? Quite a few of them, actually, you must be pleased.”  
A flicker of surprise that was covered by a smile, Fyora nodded. “Yes, it’s been quite a whirlwind. It’s good for the children, though. I can only hope that the rest of them will find homes soon. They all deserve it.”

“Right. Some more than others, I guess. Or sooner.” Jade said offhandedly, thinking of the four that Neva had mentioned. There was something about all of them. She saw a light frown cross Fyora’s features at Jade’s comment, and Jade quickly cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you needed a babysitter.”  
“A babysitter?” 

“Yeah. They’re supposed to leave tonight, right? Neva said you were taking them.”

“Oh, yes.” Fyora said, regaining her smile, with only the barest of hesitation. “Well, yes, of course. That would be really appreciated—and of course, you’ll be compensated for your time.” Jade’s suspicion increased, that Fyora hadn’t found anyone to watch the children if she was taking the newly adopted herself, but this was what she wanted, anyway. Something was wrong, and she felt she had come at the right time. She had already made up her mind to look into the adoption—and follow them to wherever they were going. The words chain and drain resonated in her head, and she didn’t like it. At least this way, she could start from the same place that they did, and follow after. And if this was just the paranoia from a bad dream—well she couldn’t take that chance.

“Sounds good, then.” Jade spoke. “I’ll make sure they’re safe and sound.”


	3. Chapter Two

2

When Spike woke, he was on the floor, his head still spinning, and throbbing. “Bloody hell,” He groaned, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead as he sat up. So he had come hope a little drunk the night before, elated from yet another successful game of poker, and as he was a more than a little imbibed, tripped over the footrest he had forgotten was there and spun out onto the floor. This was hardly the first occurrence of it in the last couple of months, and nurturing the bottle had become a bit of a habit with him. But damn it, why not? Hadn’t he earned it by now? He pulled himself up, and feeling a bit peckish, headed to his fridge. He could bloody well drown his sorrows in drink if he wanted to. Not as if anyone cared. Not as if she cared. Muttering a curse or two, he poured his spiced blood drink into a mug, curling his fingers around the handle. A glance at his nails saw that the black paint had nearly been all chipped off, and he made a mental note to redo them. 

While watching Passions, perhaps. Season 7, and still going strong, it was as dastardly complex as ever. And helped him move the quiet sunlit hours along. So he wasn’t so alone with his bloody thoughts. It wasn’t on yet, and as he settled into his chair, he flicked through the channels, trying to block thoughts of that vexing blonde from his head. Oh she needed some time and space to think about things, did she? Oh she was too busy saving the world to complicate things? Well he’d show her. He’d show her that he didn’t need her, didn’t need to be anyone’s champion, that he was quite happy living here in his underground flat, and if they thought Spike was going to jump up like a dog at the Scoobie’s beck and call, at Buffy’s beck and call whenever they needed him, well they could beg all they wanted, but he was staying right there. 

He’d done the hero gig. Still hadn’t gotten him the girl. It was better this way. Far, far away. Being near her and not being with her did maddening things to his head. And every time that ponce Angel showed up, the bare attention of hers that he did get, well that’d dwindle even smaller. And there was always some crisis, some something. He wanted a break from it all, from those catastrophes before it killed him. Well, again. Again, again. He didn’t think he could get much more deader than being a vampire, but he had proved that wrong, hadn’t he? And now he was just tired. Tired of it all, and so he had gone to the town called Haven, where he could hide in peace, out among others of his kind, where it wasn’t a hellmouth. Just a place for freakshows, and he supposed he still fit that mix. 

Didn’t fit anywhere else, anyway.

He had long since finished his blood, moved on to cracking open a beer, with a cigarette sizzling between his lips when his tv began to blink oddly. After a whirring, erratic crackling, he stared as the screen began to flicker. “Oh, what now,” He groaned. He really didn’t want to have to filch another television, when suddenly a picture flickered, oddly, and then, a face appeared, one that was familiar to him, with her lively brown eyes and most-of-the-time red hair. He hadn’t quite seen it turn all black—though a color he much preferred himself—but he’d heard tell of the tales, which admittedly he found more amusing than foreboding, thinking of the quirky redhead before him as being the big bad was an comical thought. 

“Willow.” He drawled. “What the bloody hell are you doing on my telly?”

“Spike, hello.” Her eyebrows shot up, a relieved smile playing on her lips. Not at the sight of seeing him, he guessed, more likely whatever spell she thought up now having worked—because that was what it was, the only way her face was pronounced on his screen—any the way whatever he was saying was being heard by her, and vice versa. That certainly wasn’t a feature that been advertised on his television when he stole it. “And it’s a long-distance communication spell from the techno pagans. I haven’t actually tried it before. I’m actually surprised it works. Is the picture okay, and can you hear me from far away, like across your room—“

“Red, as ecstatic as I am for your little success, I’m going to have to go back to my first question, which is what and why are you on my telly.” 

“Well, if I knew your number, or if you had a computer, I could have video-called you over it, which would have been easier, and boring—“

“Back to the why, luv.” His tone was contemptuous, although in reality, he didn’t harbor bad feelings towards the witch. She’d always treated him more or less fairly, even before he regained his soul, and it wasn’t her fault how things were with Buffy. She wasn’t to blame how Spike had been used and tossed to the curb again. Still, seeing her face brought up all the memories of Buffy, which he was more than wanting to avoid. Let him just drown his sorrows for a bit, alone in this sodding basement flat. 

“Right, uh. There was something we were hoping you could look into.” She blinked, her low, flat voice playing on casual, but her eyes flickered to the side somewhat when she mentioned ‘we’, avoiding the mention of the name ‘Buffy’, also referring to the ‘Scoobies’, Buffy’s ever-loyal band of friends, not to mention all the little slayerettes that had sprung up around her. Keeping Buffy busy as ever, with her new network. “There’s this Order, of the Dark arts we’ve been trying to track down. We’ve found they’ve been gathering power sources at five locations—and one is really close to you. Just outside town.”

“And what, say, do you need me for,” Spike asked, his patience waning. Tangling with the weird arts weren’t his fancy, not when he could tangle with a demon or stake another vampire, but getting all magicked up was something he was more than happy to avoid. And for what? Because they needed him? Oh, good ol’ puppy Spike, ready to leap into the fray because little miss Buff was asking him. Except she wasn’t, and he wouldn’t have done it for her anyway. Well, probably. No, definitely not. 

“The seers say they’re gathering their power tonight. They’re supposed to be going to one place, but we don’t know where that is. If you wouldn’t mind, you know, giving it a look after dark.”

“I’m busy. Now get off my telly, Passions is coming on.”

“Spike. We have someone coming but they won’t get there until tomorrow, and we need someone tonight.”

The cigarette had burned to nearly a stub, and he dropped it to the ground, squishing it beneath his foot, leaning back in his chair. He hoped the witch could see his indifferent slouch. Because he was a big bad monster and not to be disturbed, that was right. The little red-head wouldn’t break him, not a chance. He had cut himself free of all that scooby nonsense. He didn’t care about it anymore. He was his own vamp, and nothing Willow said could change his mind. She had no hold over him, he didn’t owe her anything. There was that she had never been unfair to him, or hostile, like that wanker Xander. In fact, out of the whole bunch—at least those living—she was the most tolerable. They had saved the world together, more than once and damnit. Her eyebrows were raising again, in that puppy-dog look way, innocence on her face, instead of the formidable witch he would do well to fear. 

“It’s important.” She stressed, and damn his sodding soul, that twinge of guilt. He did still care. Just because of him and Buffy, didn’t mean he could just turn his back on everything else.  
Although he damn well wanted to.

“Fine. This one thing.” He raised a finger in empathetic posture, before massaging his forehead in a sigh. “Now what do you want me to do exactly?” 

He still didn’t know what he was doing here. He sat on his motorcycle, out of town, out in a field in the middle of bloody nowhere, with Willow’s damn befuddling instructions. Befuddling to him, anyway. He was where he was supposed to be, but there was nothing there, night had long since fallen, yet this “Order of the Darth” or whatever, wasn’t here either. And he was supposed to be looking for some kind of power source they were gathering, which he didn’t know what it looked like it. And then stop them, from doing whatever, as they apparently tried to gather their resources through teleportation or portals, or some nifty hocus pocus. Without dying. Willow hadn’t mentioned that last part, but Spike had it quite high on his list. Try to stop the bad people, don’t die over it. This was just one step, or whatever. He didn’t know. Willow’s babble was baffling, and even if he had tried listening more, that woman could confuse anyone, he was sure. Spike wasn’t for talking, himself. He was about the doing, preferably with physical violence. And soon. He was getting bored, and his smokes were running low.  
And then, thankfully, he saw lights on the horizon. “Bloody finally.” He muttered. It was in a black, unmarked van, and as the door opened, he saw a figure in a cloak sidle out of the van, followed by five small shapes—children? Where was the power sources? If this was even the right place, the right people. He stayed to the shadows, stepping away from his bike, hiding in the quiet as the sound of young, vibrant voices filled the air. The children were talking loud, excitedly, as they followed the cloaked figure through the field. 

He didn’t see the second figure approach—rather they seemed to appear from thin air, dressed in a cloak, taller than the first adult. The words they exchanged couldn’t be heard by Spike’s ears, not as the children spoke, who turned from each other, looking on curiously at the newcomer. But as their voices turned questioning, the second figure raised his hand—or hers, Spike couldn’t tell, not until the voice rang out, deep and commanding. “Silencium.” The cloaked figure thundered, and it was as if the breath was sucked out of the air, and immediately the children quieted. He could just make out the confusion on their faces in the darkness, as their mouths opened but no sound came out. They twitched nervously on their small feet, ready to rabbit. Spike stiffened, drawing his hands into his pockets as he began to move, over to where they were. He knew Willow had wanted him to do recon, in the very least, that charging in blindly without feeling out his surroundings wasn’t something that she would have recommended.

But blindly charging in was something that he did very well. Or at least, habitually. But as he strode forward, more words came from the magic-doer’s mouth, among them, something that sounded very similar to ‘reveal’. Spike didn’t know jack about Latin, and despite his long years of living, hadn’t bothered to rectify that. It wasn’t important, but then, before his eyes, the field shifted. Where it had been empty air and mist, a large building now sat, made of blocks of stone and wood, an ancient looking structure arose, towering and intimidating.  
“What the bloody hell,” Spike muttered, his eyebrow arching as he momentarily stalled in his tracks. In the same moment, the children were knocking back into each other, ready to flee. The cloaked man turned back to him, and with an easily sounded “Vinculum,” chains materialized, as quickly and as solidly as the building had, wrapping themselves around the children’s wrists, chaining them to each other. They no doubt would have screamed, but the silencing spell still held affect. With fear reflected on their small faces, the two cloaked figures began to usher them forcefully into the temple.

It was at this point that Spike broke out into a full-fledged run, sprinting across the field, all pretense of hiding gone. However, they had disappeared within before he could even reach the door. He reached out for the wooden door, the long metal handle and pulled, hard, nearly wrenching it from his hinges as he stepped inside. Hoping for a fight, he swore under his breath at the empty, long hallway. Light flickered dully from alight torches. The hallway seemed ancient, with layers of dust settling on the dilapidated cracks in the stone. He looked around impatiently, thundering down the corridor, until it opened into a large room, with engraved staircases, leading up to the second floor. And there they were, the two cloaked figures standing near the railing, the children huddling nearby, their eyes wide and with tears running down their cheeks. The two seemed to be chanting, a green light appearing, the beginnings of some spell, like a portal. Right, didn’t Willow said they had to gather the power sources, first, take them somewhere else? Well he was beginning to guess what the power sources were, though he had no idea what they needed with children. If they hadn’t noticed him before, they certainly saw him now, with the smaller figure—a woman, pausing mid chant to flicker her eyes down towards him. Her face was shadowed, both by her hood and the dim lighting, but her lips began to move again, a light tremble. 

“I suppose I’m here to stop you wankers, from whatever child labour revolution show you’re re-enacting. Step away from the light show, come quietly,” He couldn’t believe he was saying that. What a softie he was becoming, giving them a chance and all, and usually he’d hope they wouldn’t even consider taking it, but there were quite a few innocents in the way, and dearly ensouled Spike had to think of them first. The woman said a word then, one he couldn’t quite make out. He heard two sounds then, clattering in both his ears. One sounded like footsteps, from behind him, and another was a slight clack. To his mistake, he turned behind him first, catching only the glimpse of a figure before his peripheral vision warned him of something else. The clacking hadn’t been a trap, at least not one that was set up, but magic had it released, and he was granted the sight of wooden sticks flying through the air, sped by magic, and rushing straight towards his heart.


	4. Chapter Three

3

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Lythia’l had said, not for the first time. In fact, she had protested quite a few times since Jade had first asked her help. It was true that the demon was doing her a favor, one she desperately needed, and that was the only thing keeping her impatience in check. Even then, Jade took a second to sigh away from the phone, hearing Lythia’l’s continued, “If you offered to babysit the children I don’t see why I have to. Or why you even bothered to say it in the first place, and make it so you’re expected to be there.” It was again, not the first time that Lythia’l had brought up that point, nor the first time Jade had tried to explain. She figured her roommate was just irritated and wished to complain, and Jade supposed she owed her that right. Still, it was aggravating. Jade didn’t like playing the hero more than anyone else, and if she had another choice… but she didn’t. The vision had come to her, and she was going to figure out what it meant. Even if it meant listening to Lythia’l complain. 

When she was sure she could keep the annoyance out of her voice, Jade finally turned the phone back towards her. “So I could be here, waiting, without being suspicious. I need to find out wherever they’re going. Which means I need someone powerful to watch the kids. Which means you. Please.” She added the please as an afterthought. Lythia’l would do it, Jade knew, as long as the demon was fawned over and made to feel important. Jade wasn’t sure if that was a Mok’tagar thing, but it was definitely Lythia’l’s. A grumble on the other end of the phone made Jade want to sigh again, this time in relief. It was acquiescence, no matter how grudgingly, and Jade was grateful it meant that this conversation was finally coming to a close.  
“Fine. When you call me, I’ll be there.”

That had been a few hours ago, and now Jade sat in the porch, widening her eyes to see through the darkness. The kids had still turned back from now and then, waving to the house. They had already been through their tearful goodbyes, even towards Jade, and Jade had to shoo away Neva’s attempt at a hug more than once. Fyora was helping the children pile the rest of their belongings into the van, and impatiently, Jade lit a cigarette, letting it burn between her fingers for a moment before placing it on her lips, eyes glued to the scene. She was nervous, feeling her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She had a bad feeling about this, a nervousness and an anxiety that wanted something to happen to justify it as much as she wanted nothing to happen again. Just paranoia. Her free hand began to tighten around her phone, just a tap of a number away from calling Lythia’l to take over watching the children. Jade had already sent them to bed, as it was late, and the goodbyes between the children had been long enough. 

Her breath was shaky with the exhalation of smoke, and the cigarette was doing little to calm her splintered nerves. She hadn’t done anything like this for a long time. She kept to herself for a reason.  
Finally, the doors of the van closed, and Jade watched tentatively as the vehicle came to life, and she waited, in the doorway, waiting for it to move. After a pause, the engine sounded, and Jade whipped her phone to her ear. “It’s time,” She said, after the call was picked up after the first ring. There was a pop then, not quite a break in the connection, when then where there was no-one standing beside her in the dark, abandoned porch of the institution, there was Lythia’l, having easily teleported herself. Her pretty face was skewed with an irritated expression. “Okay, I’m here.” Jade was barely listening to her, watching the van pull out of the driveway. Jade let her cigarette fall, crushing it with her heel. 

“The kids are upstairs, sleeping.” Jade said in a rush, reaching for the door. She heard Lythia’l’s sigh. “They’re sleeping then. They don’t need a babysitter. Who’s going to come after them?”  
“Lyth.” Jade warned, pausing in the doorway, a strong breeze of cold air hitting her skin, eyes still on the van, waiting for it to pull out of sight. But she had no more patience for Lythia’l, to explain why she couldn’t just leave the rest of the children, even if the danger didn’t surround them. She had to make sure. 

“Fine, fine. I’m going to steal your soul someday you know, this is all so I don’t feel bad about it.” It wasn’t the first time that Jade had heard Lythia’l say that, but Jade was far from ignorant about the practices of Mok’tagar demons, she wouldn’t have lived with one otherwise, but she knew Lythia’l didn’t mean it as a threat. She might not have had much in the loyalty, but she had enough, which was why she was here, albeit reluctantly. Jade trusted her at least that much, so Lythia’l’s fuming bothered her little.

“I know. Thank you.” Jade glanced back at the peeved Lythia’l, giving her a small, grateful smile. “You should be okay. But—just in case, there’s no-one better to be here.” She stepped through the doorway, out into the cold, but before the door swung shut, Lythia’l caught it. 

“Yeah. Well you be careful. I know you’re—well that doesn’t mean you’re invincible. Don’t do anything stupid. I’m not keeping those cats if you don’t come back.”  
It was touching, her concern, no matter how the demon tried to conceal it. Jade didn’t waste any more time, walking quickly over to her bike and starting it up. She freed her hair from her usual ponytail, letting it cascade down her shoulders—it was quite long now, but having it in a ponytail underneath her motorcycle helmet gave her a headache. Hair free, she shoved on her helmet and drove after the van. She didn’t turn on the light, and thankfully her motorcycle was quiet enough to not draw attention to her. She had waited a couple of necessary moments to give her some distance, but she would rather be caught then let them get too far away for her to follow. 

The moments seemed long, as they were headed out of town, and she glanced at the departing Haven behind her, though they were still close enough to the city’s limits. She had kept the van in just bare vision, but as it slowed, so did she, her heart beating rapidly. Had they seen her? She really didn’t have an excuse thought out if they had, except for, “Oh hey I got lost while watching the children.” But excuse was only needed if what they were doing was innocuous and this was an overreaction on Jade’s part. If it only was just an overreaction, but her suspicion increased as the van turned off the road, heading out onto the dirt and grass out in a field. She crossed the terrain slower than they did, just barely seeing their outline in the dark, to keep from being detected. When they finally stopped the car, she cut off her motorcycle’s engine at the same time, kicking out the stand and taking off her helmet. Hanging it carelessly on her bike, she took off at a jog towards the still-lit van.

She saw the building appearing more vividly than anything else, the old-looking, stone-built structure. A shiver ran through her body. Magic, definitely magic. She barely felt the cold then, pulling her machete free from her back-pack and strapping it to her hip mid-stride. She pulled her compound bow from her back next, a smaller one that wasn’t much longer than the length of her arm. She had a feeling, if there were magicians—witches, warlocks, whatever, that they wouldn’t be too fond of fighting face to face. Still, if they were allied with Fyora or against her—that still remained to be seen. She was still halfway across the field when she saw the figures—eight now? A new figure, cloaked as Fyora now was, had joined the scene. Jade narrowed her eyes, but her night-vision left much to be desired. They opened the door of the stone building and walked inside, followed shortly by another figure—a man in a black coat, who ran in after them. Not surreptitiously, as a spy might, but aggressively. Jade pursed her lips and sprinted the rest of the way.

She was fast, and strong, and the run didn’t take too much out of her, but her heart still hammered hard in her chest—more likely from apprehension than exhaustion. Her bow in hand, she jogged down the hall. Having forgotten to die her hair up, it tumbled down her face, her shoulders, barely rectified by an impatient shake of her head. She heard chanting before she reached the room, and there was the figure she had glimpsed entering the building before she did. He stood tall—taller than she did anyway, in a long black coat that swept only a few inches above ground. The first thing that she noticed was his platinum blonde hair, gelled up away from his face, and the words bleach blonde punk echoed in her mind. He was turned away from her, only the side of his face visible, the sharp edge of his cheekbones as he looked up, speaking to someone. She didn’t pay attention to his words, her eyes instead on the flicker of movement coming from his other side. He moved then, turning his face first in her direction, and for a heartbeat, their eyes met. Then, as quickly as he had swiveled towards her, he let out a curse and turned away, from where the wooden spikes were hurling themselves through the air, towards him. 

She hadn’t realised she had started moving again, to join him in the large room, as he twirled, just in time, to avoid most of the deadly projectiles, smacking a few of them out of the way with his arms. In the same moment however, more sprang, now from behind where both he and Jade were standing. She saw it first, before he could, and she was quick, her reflexes honed, enough so that she reached out and pushed the man with enough strength to cause him to stumble backwards more than a couple feet, and the stakes that would have buried themselves in his back, in his heart, flew harmlessly through the air.

Well, most of them. Jade let out a strangled cry as she realised some of them had hit their mark—one sinking into the arm that had pushed the blonde man out of way, and two more embedded in her torso. The man turned back to her, his eyes wide with bewilderment, a confused scowl on his face as he looked upon her, sinking to her knees. Jade clutched at her stomach, grinding her teeth to prevent another groan, looking up towards the chanting was still coming from, and an increasingly bright light, that snapped green electricity, some sort of portal. And standing before it, at the top of the stairs, was Fyora. She looked down, no remorse as she gazed at Jade, while her companion continued to speak in Latin that meant nothing to Jade. But the huddled kids did, as she found them then, the five of them grasping close to each other, their wrists shackled with manacles. Her eyes found Neva’s, who had tears running down her dark cheeks, her mouth moving in a silent ‘Help us, help us.’

“What the sodding—“ The man finally spoke, an English tilt to his voice, as he was still looking down at her with alarm, temporarily disarmed by his surprise. He was bleeding from one shoulder, having a stake embedded in his flesh, but Jade knew she was the worst of the two of them. “Help them,” Jade forced out, as he hesitated, and a determined scowl covered his features once more, looking back up at the stairwell. But it was too late, as the man finished his incantation with a “…Aperta porta!” Another green flash, and a swirling gateway appeared, a hole in…air it seemed, brimming with energy. As the blonde man began to race up the stairs, Jade watched Fyora raise her hand, causing a shout from the man as he was flung backwards, as if hit by something large, and not… air. A telekinetic force that kept him from getting to the two casters. Jade tried to raise to her feet then, when the pain in her abdomen increased, and she realized how much blood was seeping through her fingers as she had pressed them to her stomach to put some pressure. The wooden stakes were still there, long and thin, but deep, protruding from her skin. It hurt, badly. She took a second, a gulping of constricted air, before pushing up with her one hand, the one that wasn’t covered in blood. Her bow lay at her feet, forgotten as she tried to stand. And she did, for a second, before stumbling. She floundered back a few steps before her back landed against solid stone, the wall behind her. She tried to use it to support her weight, to keep on standing, but her knees buckled, and she sank back down to the floor, her body crying out in relief. And pain. When she looked back up, the man was leading the kids into the portal—pushing them, who still cried silently. Jade made another attempt to get up, feeling the blood pool down her stomach, trickling to the floor, but this time, couldn’t stand. 

“Will you stop knocking me about,” the blonde haired man growled in frustration, his eyes narrowing further as the kids were being hauled off, though his next attempt to climb the staircase again had him thrown, this time all the way to the back wall where Jade laid sprawled. Dust and stone crumbled where his back hit the wall, a few meters to her left. “Bloody cowards, stealing children, hiding behind your tricks. Got anything else up your sleeve, bitch?” He swore at Fyora, who looked back at him impassively. 

“Now. Leave them.” Jade could just make out the second cloaked figure’s words as he too stepped into the portal, which crackled and spat. Fyora looked after where he went, ready to follow.

“Fyora!” Jade managed, as loud as she could, though each breath was painful. “Don’t do this. They’re just children. Whatever you’re trying to do—don’t.” Fyora stopped for a moment, turning back towards them, as the man in the black coat pulled himself back onto his feet, ready for another go. Fyora’s hand outstretched, and commanded, “Vinculum.” Chains appeared, wrapping around the man, and pulling him, cursing, back to the wall, wrapping around his wrists and pulling them above his head. Jade let out her own curse as they appeared around her own wrists, pulling them away from where they pressured her stomach, forcing her to her feet as they wrenched her arms up. She whispered another expletive under her breath, raising her eyes to Fyora, whose face was expressionless.

“Goodbye, Jade.” She spoke in a detached face, turning away, and stepping through the portal, which flickered for a moment longer, and then disappeared in a flash of light, closing it behind her. Jade leaned her head back against the hard, cold stone, trying to fight the hopelessness that rose up in her as surely as the pain did. So much for a daring mission, or for Fyora being the one in danger. The children’s caretaker had betrayed them all. And had left Jade here, trapped. Where she was going to die.


	5. Chapter Four

**4**

So the baddies had gotten away. Big bloody deal. That definitely wasn’t the first time that had happened to him—carefully laid out planning gone sour. Except there hadn’t been planning, and it had just been a run and charge gig. Which, to be fair, didn’t have a great record of working out. And so it hadn’t, those bloody witches or warlocks, or whatever had left him the fool, with those snivelling, crying kids forced in with him. That was one of the worst things about having his soul. The guilt he felt now was wracking. If it had just been a couple of gems or whatever that they had been trying to take, he would have said screw it, regrouped and tried something else. But the fact that they were kids, and they were gone, well damn. What if one of them had been Dawn? Dawn Summers, the sometimes snot-nosed brat, or Niblet, as he called her, well he always had a bit of a soft spot for her. Although she wasn’t exactly a child any more, he had tried to protect her. More oftenly for the sake of her big older sister, Buffy, but also because he cared for her, he did. And he had left her at the same time he had left Buffy. Hadn’t even said a good-bye, and that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Dawn’s fault how things had gone with Buffy and him, but he had left the Niblet’s life all the same. Sometimes he could even convince himself that it was for her own good, but he couldn’t quite shake the guilt. And he was reminded of it now, seeing the helplessness in the kiddie’s faces as they were carted away into that damned portal, including the bitch who had tried to make him a pin cushion, who muttered a cold and careless goodbye as she too vanished.

But not at him, at his sudden and unexpected help. And who the hell did this broad think she was? She had rushed in, hitting Spike not-that-gently out of the way after he had dodged the first round of wooden death sticks but not the second—and why? He had been shoved out of the way at the expense of her own—and likely much less durable—skin, and now she had those stakes sticking out of her flesh that would have been in his. That didn’t help to add to his guilt, although Spike added to himself to make him feel better that it was just as likely they were trying to kill her as they were him, so it was her own fault for running in there. And why, he had no idea. The way she had asked him to help the children made him think she had some connection to them somehow, a child or a sibling, he didn’t know. Not that it had mattered, no matter how she had pleaded. He had failed, knocked down that staircase every time he climbed up it, by some invisible force that hurled like a battering ram. He hated magic.

And it had him again, those damn chains that had wrapped themselves around the children had tied him just as solidly to the wall. He grunted, pulling at where they came from the stone wall, and he could feel and hear a grinding, a small give, but they held firm. Even if he could break from them, it’d take a while, a lot of pulling. And he wasn’t alone. He looked to his right, where the mystery woman had been changed as well. He wondered why they had bothered. Two long pieces of wood sticking out of her torso, another out of her arm—it was fairly certain that she wasn’t going anywhere. The smell of her blood was thick and strong, and he could see it dripping onto the floor. Damn. He hadn’t had human blood in a long while, and it had been a few hours since he had last eaten. Drank, whatever. But the smell of her blood was a lot more appealing than the pig’s blood he usually downed.

He strained against his chains to look at her. She was pale, even more so from her blood lost, her eyes were closed as she breathed faintly. Long brown hair tumbled down her shoulders, some strands caught in the sticky viscosity of her blood, which ran down her jean jacket and jeans, staining her grey shirt that had a cartoon Spiderman on it. “Hey,” He called, “You alive?”

Her eyelids flickered, and she opened her eyes, lips in a thin line to disguise the pain as she managed a quiet, “Yeah.” She was attempting to stay as still as possible, her shoulder blades leaning into the wall to support herself, the chains nearly dangling her away from the floor. As it was, her feet couldn’t quite stay flat-footed, so she was balanced on her tip-toes.

“Then who the bloody hell are you?” Spike wasn’t one to coddle. For as long as she could speak, he wanted answers. He surmised her name was Jade, from what the cloaked bitch had said before her departure, but what was the woman doing here. Following him? Following the children?

She didn’t seem to take offense at his no holds-barred tone, something that resembled a smile but was more likely a wince curling her lips. “Jade. That woman—Fyora took five kids from the orphanage where she works today. I was following her to find out why.” She let out a shaky breath, her throat hoarse. “Guess I found out.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “You work at this orphanage then?”

“No. I just visit from time to time.” She rolled her head up, looking at the chains that bound her. Spike had to give her some credit for what she did next, straining and pulling at the chains. It wasn’t smart, though, as she soon desisted with a hiss of pain.

“Kid-lover, then?” Spike was beginning to be confused, and the answers he was getting weren’t helping any. He still didn’t know who she was or what she was doing here.

“No. Can’t stand them usually.”

“Then why—“

“I had a bad feeling. A warning from someone, really. I was following up on it.” She sighed, closing her eyes again, before opening them to look back at Spike. “And you?”

“Not particularly fond of the little buggers, no—“

“Your name, I meant.” Jade spoke, weariness in her tone. She was still bleeding, that precious blood that was seeping down her shirt, though at least the projectiles still embedded in her skin stopped the brunt of the flow. But he imagined it would still be a bitch to move or breathe. He’d know, his shoulder was still aching by the own intruder, and he couldn’t even pull it out so he could heal, not with his arms trapped like this.

“I’m Spike.” He said, although it was nearly pointless to tell her his name. She looked like she was losing consciousness, and if they stayed chained for much longer than that, unconsciousness would turn to just plain death.

“Can you loosen your chains at all, Spike?”

“Not enough.” He raised his eyebrows and pulled at them. Again, just the barest grinding. “Don’t suppose you have some hidden muscles to spring us free, darling?”

Amusement glinted in her blue eyes as she answered with the same words. “Not enough.” Sweat glistened on her forehead in beads, although his eyes were more drawn to the blood staining her clothes.

“Don’t suppose you have any little friends coming to rescue you? I’m starting to have a crick in my neck and I’m feeling a mite peckish.”

“No. No-one.” She said it quietly, closing her eyes again and leaning her head back against the wall. He had spoken with humor, although it was true he could stand to be chained here for quite some time—although it sure as hell wasn’t on the top of his list. It was true that he was hungry, although he could live without blood for a while. Although it was a shame that the bleeding meat-sack beside him would be dead far sooner than that. A waste. If only she was closer, and even then, it wasn’t in him to attack her, not any more. No, he’d watch her die like a good little ensouled vampire. Willow said that someone would be here in town, by the next day, so it was possible they’d come searching for him here. Still, that was hours from now, at the very least, and it was likely this Jade would be a corpse. Her eyes were open again, and she had turned her head towards him, an intensity in her eyes.

“You’re staring.” He said, with a certain smugness that he managed, even with his arms forced unceremoniously above his head, chained quite ungracefully to the wall. “Are you thinking how glad you are that I’ll be the last thing you see?” Since she hadn’t reacted badly so far to quips about their situation, he decided to keep it up, although it was a very real chance that she was, indeed looking upon the last thing she was going to see in this world. Her expression didn’t change, not with humor or disgust, just simple thought.

“You said you were hungry,” She spoke after a long moment.

“Yeah? What of it?”

“It gave me an idea.” She began moving oddly then, though her smartest move would be to be still, and she let out a sharp hiss as she began to swing herself, slowly, towards him, moving her leg that was closer to him, along the wall. “Moving’s probably not the smartest plan for you right now,” He cautioned as her face contorted with pain as she moved her leg up higher and closer to him, up along the wall.

“Could you just help me move my leg up?”

“Why, so you can kick me in the face?” She wouldn’t be the only one who wanted to do that—or had, over the long years he’d been alive. Although it was mostly punching. Lots of punching on his pretty face. She had gotten her foot over near to his hip, trying to edge it upwards—it did seem like she was trying to kick him, although there was very little force behind it.

“No,” she spoke in a grunt. “So you can feed.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he jerked. With a curse, her foot toppled from where it had gripped near his hip unsteadily, and with a glower at him, she began moving it upwards again.

“What the bloody hell—you know what I am?” She knew he was a vampire, and had said it so calmly. Not only that, she was offering to be his _blood bank_? Was she crazy? Sure, he supposed his conscience couldn’t really have a problem with that, since she was offering and all, but was she crazy? Her last act on his planet, feed the vampire? “How—“

“Not now. Help me get my leg up so you can reach it.” She was distinctly paler than she had been before, he supposed he should be shocked she was still able to move, hadn’t yet fallen unconscious to the pain. It was remarkable, for a human. But that’s what she was, and apparently a crazy one at that.

“It’s not going to do any good. Not that I don’t appreciate you offering me a bite and that, Bloody Mary, but—“

“It’ll make you stronger.” She spoke with conviction, a pant. Her foot rested near his hip again, balanced precariously on a slightly jutting out stone slab. He grimaced, a light smile. “It’ll fill my tummy. But unless your blood contains steroids—which still wouldn’t do a bloody thing.”

“Better than steroids.” Jade murmured hesitantly, pain etched on her face, though he thought it might be more than related to just her wounds. “The blood of a slayer.”

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide, before his mouth turned into an ironic smile. Slayers! He went to the damn pits of a hiding hole, and still he couldn’t be free of the damn things, the reminder. A slayer. With slayer blood. And she was looking at him, determined, and all he could think of was Buffy. The Slayer. The slayer of her time anyway, before every potential left right and center got activated. Spread all over the world, giving Buffy so much more to do than she ever had before. Buffy. Any mention of a slayer and his thoughts went right back to her. That expression she got on her face, when she was pissed, when she was happy, just any of them. All of them. Her face was burned into his memory, into his thoughts. He saw her everywhere, even in the woman beside him, who looked nothing like her. Who was looking at him, waiting. “Why?” He growled after a moment. He watched confusion cross her features at the broadness of his question, and though she waited, he didn’t seem in the mood to elaborate, and he wasn’t. He had a slew of extensions to that question. Why was _she_ here, a slayer, when Willow was convincing him there was no-one else to do this. Why did she have to be here, offering her blood. And why would she even consider this plan, when it was likely to do little else but accelerate her already short life span.

“It might make you strong enough to break the chains. Get free.” She was still whispering. Her leg was still where it had been, but she was tiring, her eyelids half-closed, with sweat running down her face, soaking the baby hairs on her forehead and turning them a dark brown.

“You’ll probably die.” He warned, still holding a dangerous tone. These damn slayers and their cavalier attitude about dying. He had died more than most, and he would do anything to keep it from happening again. He was the undead, and he wanted to stay that way, for eternity.

She smiled, slightly. “Either way, I die. This way, at least there’s a chance. You’ll make it. Maybe help those children. It’s better than nothing.” Her gaze held his, stronger now. Her foot twitched, and this time Spike strained against his chains, bringing himself closer towards her. There was relief in her expression as she struggled to bring her leg up further. He brought his own leg up to shift hers along, upwards. “Good thing you’re flexible,” he spoke in a lighter, haughty note, after a moment. “Bad angle, though,” Jade winced as they brought her leg up, inching her ankle closer and closer to his neck. His bad mood had gone for the moment as he let him accept what she was offering. Thoughts of Buffy had frustrated him, but they had nothing to do with the moment. “I do prefer the neck,” He added, and Jade had enough strength to glower briefly at him as finally, she rolled her leg up the last stretch, resting it under one of his arms, and close enough for him to just reach down, if he stretched his neck as far as he could. Not exactly the more comfortable as positions, but they had managed. He could feel her leg trembling at the effort of keeping it so high, and the strain of that with her injuries must have been magnanimous.

“If this doesn’t work, I appreciate the snack.” He spoke to her, in a carefree, leisurely tone. He tried to hide the guilt he shouldn’t even feel. It wasn’t as if he was taking, she was offering, and it could be the only thing to set them free. If it worked. But he had tasted Slayer blood before. Buffy’s blood. A single lick, the taste of her sweet blood, and it had given him enough strength to break free of the First. He tried not to remember the taste of her, the fear in her green eyes as she had gazed back at him. He glanced once at Jade, expecting to see some of that same fear in her eyes, but there was nothing, just simple acceptance. When he felt the change overtake his face, felt his forehead morph and his fangs appear, she held his gaze for another long moment. And when her eyes closed, he sank his teeth into her flesh.


	6. Chapter Five

**5**

First there was only darkness. A dim light surged up but it was followed immediately by pain. It coiled through her, sinking around her and through her body like thick molasses, caging her. It was agony to breathe and move, but she realised then that she could. And if she could then she must be alive. Because what but life could hurt so much? As her deadened senses came back to her she could only wish for that sweet saccharine embrace of unconsciousness, where she could float away instead of be grounded here. But she was here, with the shallow rising and falling of her chest, the twitching of her fingers, and the flickering of her eyelids. She was alive, somehow, and she couldn’t turn from it. She felt a shadow flicker across her vision from under her eyelids. There was a light pressure then, and a sound of tearing from her torso. Her eyes flew open then, hand flying up to protect herself, and she enclosed her fingers around a wrist. She held tight as she could, even as he tried to wrench his arm back, exclaiming, “Settle down there, Wildfire, you’re getting blood over everything.”

Her vision was still blurry, and she blinked hard to clear her vision. The first thing she became aware of was his face—closer to her than it had been before. She could see it now in its infinite detail, the crisp, stiff edges of his platinum blonde hair, pushed away from his face, his darker, almost black eyebrows, and the fork-shaped scar that spanned one of them. His eyes looked down at her, a pale blue, his lips in a thin line, the curve of his cheekbones pronounced and defined. He was…handsome, she admitted, for what he was, with his pale skin and smooth lines etched over his face. He couldn’t be much older than thirty, although how long he had looked like that she couldn’t be sure. She had been right about her vampire theory at least, and perhaps that wasn’t all she suspected that might be right.

She looked around, trying to get ahold on her surroundings. They weren’t in the stone building they had been in—last night? She had no sense of time, and there were no windows, no light from the outside to tell her what time it was. She could have been unconscious for hours, or days. And she was in a bed—on top of one, rather, with a black and red comforter that she sank into. She looked down at herself now, using her free arm to prop herself up. His hands were still extended, and she glimpsed the bandages between his fingers. Her jacket was removed, and she couldn’t see it, but she saw he had ripped her shirt open, leaving the flesh of her torso bare. Her modesty was protected, just barely by her tan bra, but it wasn’t the time to be embarrassed or shy. She saw the bandages he had already applied, where the wood splinters had been sticking out of her, though they were stained a deep russet. At any other time she would have sought to cover herself, though it was obvious that he had been trying to give her aid. Why, she didn’t know, and though the gauze wasn’t artfully applied, it was there. And she was alive. More surprises.

He watched her eyes detail the wounds. “It was easier than taking your shirt off,” He supplied at the torn piece of clothing that acted more as a vest now than anything else. She flickered her gaze up to him. There was sincerity in his tone, though his expression was impassive, careful. She nodded, then added a “Thank you.” Her gratitude stood for a quite a few things. He had taken her out of where they had been, back here where she was safe. Where she was hopefully safe, anyway. It wasn’t a hospital, where she should probably be, but she was more than grateful she wasn’t. She couldn’t go to a hospital, be in their records, let them see how fast her wounds healed. If they did heal fast. She withheld a pained hiss at the ache she felt in her torso. It hurt still—badly. But she was alive, and that was no doubt due to her Slayer healing abilities. It had saved her, again. She didn’t know how she felt about that. Mostly relieved, for now.

“You want to let go?” He added after a moment, one of his eyebrows arching, and she realized she was still holding onto his wrist. He hadn’t tried to shake free, though he no doubt could have, being what he was. And she felt weak, weaker than she had in a long while. She acquiesced, unpeeling her fingers from his skin. His skin wasn’t cold, or warm, even, but pale and smooth. There was a light coloring of red, the remnants of her blood from a previous bandaging was all she could guess. “You bled through the bandages. I need to redo these.” He was talking as if to a child, looking back at her languidly, no obvious emotion on his face that she could tell.  She began to move backwards, to prop herself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in her arm. She had almost forgotten, as it hadn’t been as deep as the other two wounds in her torso, but her arm had been struck as well. She was dimly aware that with all the pain she felt, where he had bit into her ankle was barely more than a dull throb. It hurt the least. “Alright then,” he muttered mostly to himself, and sat on his chair next to the side of the bed, still tall enough to be head to head with her. “I don’t have much practice with patching people up. I’m more about causing the wounds me-self.” His hands reached towards her torso, and she felt her stomach tighten involuntarily. He was close, much closer than anyone had been in a long while, and she was so unused to touch that it unnerved her. He glanced up at her, hesitating himself, and waiting for her go ahead. She nodded then, once, and he applied his fingers to the first bandage, pulling it slowly from her skin. She tightened her fists until her knuckles were white, but didn’t make another sound.

“Why did you save me then?” She asked, and his expression changed to one of exasperation. “I didn’t expect to survive the blood-loss.”

“Well you pushed me out of the way, didn’t you. Figured we’d be even now. I didn’t have much more than a taste.” He wiped away the blood around her first wound. It was deep, but the shard of wood hadn’t been wide, and it had closed, for the most part. It wouldn’t need stitches, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t tear it again if she wasn’t careful.

“But you could have. I could have bled out either way.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” He avoided her eyes, finishing the bandage on her stomach. His fingers brushed her skin as he laid the tape down, and she shuddered, tensing her abdomen.

“Odd behavior for a vampire, isn’t it?”

This time his eyes did meet hers, pale twin blues that pierced through her, his eyebrows raised. He didn’t look threatening as much as ominous. “And how did you know about that? You knew right away. Not to mention to followed me, where I was told I was the _only_ one who could be there. Did she send you, then?” His voice darkened, and the mention of ‘she’, his eyes narrowed further, angry. Jade looked back at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. No-one had sent her. She opened her mouth, this time letting out a pained groan. His fingers had found the second bandage, ripping it away a little less tenderly this time. The acrimony in his expression faded suddenly, replaced with a sullen guilt. “Sorry,” He muttered, more subdued. Jade grimaced, the closest thing she could manage to a encouraging smile.

“I recognized you.” She answered, then quietly, to the first question he had asked, not the ones that had followed after in increasing urgency. “My roommate, she plays cards with you. Bleach blonde vampire punk, were her words, or something like that.”

“Punk? Ah, that broad. I can’t be blamed that she doesn’t know how to cheat well, now can I?”

“Well, you’re the only one she blames.”

“Doesn’t stop her from making big  ‘sex me’ eyes at me every night.” He said with a smug smirk, finishing off the second bandage. She laid back in the pillows, relieved to put some distance between them, still feeling the sensation of his touch upon her skin. It was easier to breathe with him back, and the vulnerability she felt, with her torn clothing, would hopefully dissipate. His eyes flickered to her chest, but she knew his leer wasn’t libidinous as much as curious as he looked to the large red ‘V’ tattooed  on her left breast, over her heart. “V’s your favorite letter, is it?”

“It’s a five.” She answered flatly as his gaze lingered. She could have been flattered—her modestly small breasts weren’t a stunner, although her slim physique gave her a flat stomach, with enough definition to show the outline of her abs. But she knew, even if that was his intention, it was more due to the fact he had ingested her blood than anything else. She knew the effects it had on vampires, the addition to their strength just being one of the virtues it extoled.

His eyebrows raised slightly, lips pursed in another show of amusement, his pale eyes glinting as he sat back in his chair. He rested his palms on his knees, and she saw that more of her blood covered his pale skin. He obviously wasn’t a germophobe, being peculiar around blood, but she supposed being a vampire made that unnecessary. They certainly weren’t picky about what blood they ingested. She took the opportunity to wrap the pieces of her shirt back in front of her chest, giving her some comfort. Spike’s eyes gave her body one more long look before returning his gaze back to her face, no shame in his expression.

“So you knew I was a vampire, so you felt compelled to save me. But isn’t that the exact opposite of your job description, Slayer?”

“Benefit of the doubt?” Jade answered back, her expression impassive. He didn’t need to know how she did or didn’t do her ‘job’. That she was passive in the eyes of other slayers, that is if she had let herself run into them. She avoided them, as she did most people. She lived in Haven for a reason, which had more demons or mystically influenced people than it did normal people.

“Aw, aren’t you a special little Slayer. Find all things need saving, do you? Would you have given witch-bitch a hug then, maybe over a cup of tea try to persuade her to take all the little kiddies into a hell-dimension?” He was haughty, and if she had seen guilt in his eyes when he was bandaging her up, it was gone now. It didn’t matter to her. She didn’t want his sympathy. Nor did she want his superior look, as if he thought her too scared to take on vampires like she was supposed to. She could, and she had. But she wouldn’t seek them out, wouldn’t stand over their graves with a stake in hand. She’d ignore them until they forced her attention. It was the way in Haven, and she preferred it.

“I just didn’t find it necessary to kill you on sight.”

He laughed. “Found it necessary to push me out of the way, didn’t you? Got yourself all shot up like a dart-board.”

“You’re welcome.”

He narrowed his eyes then, the humor leaking from his face, unimpressed by Jade’s own lackadaisical manner. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jade beat him to it. She felt weary, exhausted. She wasn’t interested in a battle of wits with him, because she was sure she’d lose. She couldn’t think fast enough, didn’t want his judgement. “Could I have some water?” She asked, and he shrugged.

“Yeah, ‘spose.” He pushed off from his chair, towering over the bed before turning away. Her eyes followed him, turning for once to the room. She had barely looked at her surroundings since she had woken, most of her attention centered on him. Terrible Slayer indeed. It was an open room, the bed on one wall, and at the foot of it, the tv turned in the other direction, surrounded by a loveseat and a sofa chair. There wasn’t much of a kitchen, a sink, cupboards, and a fridge. No stove, and an old microwave sitting upon the counter. There was one door in the corner of the room which she assumed was the bathroom, and a closet beside it. She didn’t recognize the building from its interior, but it was no high-rent flat. It reminded Jade of the apartment she shared with Lyth, although hers had rooms, and was somewhat more appealing, without so many cob-webs and cracks in the walls. She watched Spike reach into one of the cupboards and pull out a jar, and her attention was momentarily diverted when she was reminded of her phone. It would have been in her jacket, which she no longer wore. She glanced around the room again, then saw it draped on the couch, next to Spike’s black leather jacket.

Jade winced, but she had to have her phone, to see if there were any calls from Eddie and Lyth. Lyth, Lyth would definitely be pissed. Jade had asked her to babysit for the night, and who knew when it was now. Jade heard the tap of water begin spraying, and with a side thought that it was lucky enough he actually had water, though how filtered it would be was anyone’s guess. She pushed herself up into a sitting position again, albeit slowly, the pain in her stomach like hot pokers. She shuddered, her muscles tensing with the agony, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Grunting, she tentatively lowered herself onto her feet, the pain in her ankle flaring for the first time, but it was bearable. She made her way over to her coat, using the bed as support.

“The hell, woman. You’re going to bleed through those bandages. Just sit down, will you, and I’ll get whatever is so important.”

The voice came from behind her, surprising her as she looked over her shoulder, seeing him there. She had lost concentration after hearing the water running, not even noticing it stopped in her forced journey across the room. She was gripping her stomach with her injured arm, though that wound was the least of her wood splinters. “Needed my phone. I’m guessing it’s not still night time.”

“Morning. Afternoon.” Spike corrected, shrugging as he reached her jacket before she did, picking it off the couch and tossing it at her. She caught it easily with her uninjured arm, pulling her phone from her pocket and letting the coat drop back onto the bed. She flipped her phone open, not quite able to contain a sigh. Dead. She closed it, slipping it back into her pocket, looking back up to see Spike closer, a step away. He moved quickly, quietly. It was the ways of a vampire, she knew. He didn’t even breathe. Still, it had been a while since she had hunted any, and she was at a disadvantage. He reached out with the jar of water that was mostly clear. She didn’t care, downing the offering in a few long gulps. She was thirsty, and low on blood. It would do.

  
“Thanks.” She said as she downed it, wearily sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Laying down would be a better option she knew. Her slayer healing had saved her, but she still needed rest. She tossed the empty jar back to Spike, and he caught it just as casually. He was silent for a moment, and they looked back at each other, one breathing, one still.

“What now, poppet?”

“Got to find those kids. And Fyora. ‘Job’s’ not done yet.”

He looked at her, incredulous. “You’re full of holes. What are you going to do, waltz into a hell-dimension, hope it’s the right one and let your friend push you down some stairs? Because let me tell you, it’s not as fun as it looks.”

“I’ve got to try something. I don’t know what. And you? Your job done now that you watched the kids get hauled off?”

  
“Hey.” He said in a lower tone, his expression darkening. “I tried, alright? Ms. Luke Skywalker and her force powers were a little more than I was expecting.”

“And what were you expecting?”

“Some bloody magic source or something I could just pick up or destroy. Not hocus pocus crap. And no, for your information, I’m not ‘done’. Your little slayer pals are set to be here today, where I imagine I’ll get yelled at for not doing my part and pulled along until this damn thing is over.”

“You work with the slayers, then?” Jade asked, frowning, suddenly nervous by the concept that there would be others, here. Today. It wasn’t as if she could disappear before they got here. She wasn’t afraid of them, not exactly, but speaking with them was a situation she wanted to avoid. Especially now, when she still felt dehydrated and weak, not wishing to be drained even more by her anxiety.

“Yes, I know. A vampire with your buddies. But I’ve been with them probably longer than you. Not something to boast about,” He muttered the last part under his breath, rolling his eyes and wincing with chagrin.

“I’m not.”

“Not what? A slayer, because I think we covered that part already. You are definitely a girl wonder. From the blood tasting, not the antics.”

“No, I mean. I’m not with the Slayers. The Slayer organization, or whatever they’re calling themselves.”

His eyebrows raised, slow surprise spreading over his face. “Oh. Oh! So you didn’t know about the whole mission then. Just stumbled upon it. Well, here’s your lucky day. Front row tickets to slayer central.”

“I don’t want to be.” Jade muttered before she could help herself. It was a offhanded comment, made under her breath, but she latently remembered Vampires had excellent hearing. Spike was frowning at her, confusion in his expression. “Look, I just want to help the kids. If the Slayers are interested, then I’ll help, by all means. I’m not joining, I just want the kids safe, and I’ll head back to Haven and stay out of your—all of your way.”

“I thought you weren’t a kid person. You seem awfully protective.” The surprise had passed, and he took the moment to light a cigarette, placing it between his lips. Jade frowned, looking at her own jacket, but the pocket where her smokes should be was empty.

“Do you have another?” She asked, motioning to the cigarette. He shrugged a positive, fishing another out of the box and handing it to her. She balanced it between her fingers as he leaned in towards her. The tightness in her chest returned at his proximity, and didn’t relent until her cigarette was lit and he stepped back. “It’s just… something I got to do. They deserve better. And Fyora, well. She deserves worse. I should be there for that. I need to be there for that.” She added, after a long drag of breath.

“Got a thirst for vengeance, do you? You avoid killing vampires and seek out the humans. Not that I blame you. Be mighty glad to see get knocked about a bit.”

Jade scoffed, the closest she could get to a laugh without her stomach crying out in pain. “Profiling me, are you?”

“I already got you pegged for childhood depression and daddy issues.”

“Not quite. Dad’s been dead for a while.”

“Thus the issue.” Spike answered brightly, as if proud of himself. 

She shook her head with some exasperation. He was a long ways off, and she wasn’t about to correct him letter by letter. She opened her mouth to speak when suddenly there was a loud rapping at the door. Spike spun his head around, letting his shoulders roll in a shrug. “That must be the cavalry. You talk to them about your side-gig bit, but don’t be too hopeful. Bunch of amazon ladies don’t really take to anything but seniority. And most of them are bitches.” Shaking his head, he ambled over to the door, while Jade watched the back of him, her breath caught in her throat. She found an ash-tray, snuffing out her cigarette, out of place next to the little stubs beside it, but in her nervousness, she couldn’t concentrate on it any more. She was about to meet slayers, for the first time. First she had been held back from them because she wasn’t deemed ready, and through those experiences, she avoided them as a whole. She knew about them of course, the more well-known of them, but she doubted they’d be here. And here she was, to convince them she wanted to help. For this one deal. Spike was still lamenting the existence of slayers—way too eagerly—as he crossed to the door. He wrenched it open, but words immediately died on his lips as he saw the one who stood there, in his doorway.

“Buffy?”

 


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for those who've read, and I do have more chapters which I should post more quickly. I just want to warn everyone starting this fic that it's very much a slow, slow, slow burn. If that's not your style, no worries at all, and if it is, well, here it is!

**6**

 

There she was, standing in his doorway. He always had that fleeting hope, that she was there because she wanted to be there. That she had made some sort of choice, finally, but as it so often was, she was here because she wanted something. For him to help her in her never-ending quest. Spike, the little go-to puppy. She had his loyalty, his devotion, and she pulled no punches in utilizing it. He’d finally come to that conclusion, that that was all he was getting from her. It had hit him hard, when he finally learned that and left. That had only been a couple months ago, and his distance from her didn’t make it any easier seeing her now. He didn’t know what to feel. Happiness, anger, relief, confusion, he felt it all. He blamed her for a lot of things, for his unhappiness, so much it had been twisting him up inside. He was her ‘champion’, something noble, but he had wanted more from her. Still did. And she hadn’t felt the same way, or least she went all Buffy about it,

After he had died, came back as a ghost, and stuck in Los Angeles, all he had wanted was to see her again. He thought maybe if he could, they could finally have something. A real something, more than just sex, just friendship and just mocking jibes. But when he did find her, she was in the middle of some fight—like she always was. He remembered her telling him that she had known he was alive for a quite some time, but had been too busy to see him before then. He remembered shrugging it off, the ever-hopeful puppy, willing to be her effervescent slave, just for a spot of her attention. It was crushing him, his devotion, longing for every light touch she gave him, reading into every lingering glance. He was always hoping, thinking that it might change, that she might realise how she felt about him. He had told her how he felt all the time. He had always been open. But she had only told him once, before he was about to die. And any hope he had that maybe they could just take it where they left off was sadly adjourned. There was always some crisis, some excuse that they couldn’t be together. Finally, it had been enough. It was messing up Spike inside, and so he had left. In all reality, Buffy had left first, to whatever fight called her, and so he had slipped out of the din. Found himself in little Haven, where some obscurity was nice, and he could avoid the merry band of Slayers, who had sprung up all over the place, like bunnies.

And here, where he expected to meet one the least, there she was. He supposed Haven was a ripe-town for demon hunters, seeing as there were so many, and someone who killed vampires could have a splendid old time. But in the time he had been here, he hadn’t heard a whisper about her, which didn’t seem to go with the normal drama queen slayer persona. Her desire to hunt down the people who stole the children had reverted back to the normal expected martyr-dom, and that lingering wish for death he could almost just smell on her. Definitely fit the slayer bill. He doubted her solo act would stand long after she was introduced to the Slayerettes. Something about the big fights and dangers that was so damn euphoric to the woman gladiators, as soon as she got a taste she’d pack up shop out of mystic little Haven and join the fight. Slayers liked the fight better than they liked being alone. It was the only way it made sense, that Buffy and her little friends had made up their network of Slayers, despite them all being lone wolf narcissists. Offer them something to punch and they went wild. And here before him, she was the genuine article.

She stood a few inches above five feet—not unlike Jade, he had grudgingly observed—but with blonde hair, that beautiful goldilocks hair he had crushed between his fingers more than once. He could still remember the feel, the silky caress of it. And those eyes, those large eyes sparkling and green, that had the power of making him feel a whole lot of things. Mostly shame, she had a flair for harsh scrutiny. And that half smile, playing on her lips, and the power that radiated through her small, very hot body. They could have been quite a team, if she wanted to be. But that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it. Love was endlessly frustrating. Not to mention torment, and he found looking at her that he hadn’t been quite ready to experience it so soon. Maybe after a couple more decades or so, that’d do him.

“Honey, I’m home.” She smiled that cloying smile, no pain or remorse or _anything_ remotely similar to the agony he was feeling, just seeing her again. Damn, it just wasn’t fair. Love’s bitch indeed, he was all squeamish like a little lovesick puppy, and if he did have breath, well she’d take it away. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” She asked innocently after a heartbeat of silence.

“Last I remember, you didn’t need one,” He spoke, after he regained his voice, his lips lightly pursed and eyebrows raised. She flounced around him then, her shoulder brushing his as she stepped through the doorway. “Just being polite,” she said in a saccharine tone, reveling in her bubbly, teasing personality that she visited less and less as the years had gone by, before she had turned into Mama General of the slayer soldiers. Any second now, it’d melt away and she’d be all business, tugging on Spike’s leash. He knew her to a peach, he did. And it was true he loved every inch of that infernal woman, every speck about her. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hate her too, sometimes.

“We just came from one of the other zones, but they’d already gone long before we got there. Did you follow Willow’s instructions?” Already, her expeditious journey into the mission. That was all that mattered to her, all that ever did.

“I did. Got there just in time to see them haul the goods off into the thou-shalt-not pass dimension.”

“So you couldn’t stop them?” Alarm flickered over her face, a frown settling on her features. “How—“ Her eyes finally flickered to the back end of the room, where Jade lingered. She had been silent during the exchange, but at some point had pulled herself to her feet, where she tottered by the bed. One hand gripped the remnants of her torn, blood-soaked shirt, covering her pale skin. He supposed he could have offered her a shirt before then, but it hadn’t occurred to him, and she hadn’t asked. And the peeks were nice. It had been a while since he had been with a woman, and though it sure as hell would had sped along his recovery from Buffy, he always felt so damn guilty about it that it was few and far between. Damn having a conscience. He should have been screwing everything that moved, but all he could think about Buffy, how she felt beneath him, and not some inferior mimic.

“You couldn’t wait to get distracted until _after_ you stopped the Order?” Buffy snapped her head back towards Spike, her blonde hair whipping with her speed. “I can’t believe this. Spike, this was important.”

“Hey, I said I tried alright. Not much I could do against mystical mojo, now can I?”

“No, but by all means, feel free to celebrate your failure.” She shrugged her shoulders. She might no longer have worn her carefree, teenager clothes, appropriating beige dress pants, a fancy looking white top and a black suit jacket top, but the twinges of her jealousy were surfacing. At another time, Spike might have felt proud of himself, but as in all times that he succeeded making her jealous, he just felt bad about it after, knowing he could hurt her. It’s probably why he did it, to prove she felt something. Although this time, it was unintentional. He looked back at the wounded Slayer. She was pale from her loss of blood, deep circles under her eyes. He could see now that they were a bright blue, and the lack of color in her pallid skin pronounced the red in her lips and the flush on her cheeks. Her brown hair was long pulled from whatever ponytail it had been in, tumbling down her shoulders in disarray. It definitely looked like they had been having fun, if the fact that she was full of holes and pale as a sheet was discarded.

“It’s not as if people will get hurt because of it.” She continued. Buffy was never one to pull punches, even to the people she supposedly liked. She didn’t appreciate anyone getting in her way, and listening, definitely not a strong suit. He was expected to flinch at failure, but didn’t, arching an eyebrow and looking back at her impassively.

“Jumping to conclusions a bit, are you? Not that I couldn’t. You know, if I wanted to.” Spike added, a little defensively. She didn’t have to know about his sad lack of a sex life, no she did not. In fact, just keep that jealousy rolling. He was fine with that. Let her ruminate in it a little, realise how much she missed him.

“I’m Jade.” Jade interjected, her voice cutting through the air casually, no expression on her face, but Spike saw how her lips were pinched tight together, and she fought to stand still. Buffy didn’t even look back towards her.

“That’s great.” She spoke in a mock high voice, choosing to ignore who she figured was Spike’s ‘fling’. “I’m Buffy.”

“I know who you are.”

“Oh, you do, do you? He doesn’t have you dress up as me, does he? Because he’s done that, you know.” Buffy said, turning towards the woman, who looked back at her in the same steady gaze. “And with a robot.”

“Now, let’s not get into that.” Spike interrupted. He really did miss that Buffybot. Not her exuberant personality, but the other things were nice.

“I think there are more important things to worry about. Like this ‘Order’?” A sarcastic tone inched her way into Jade’s voice, defensive.

“Oh, you took her along, did you? Maybe that’s why they got away?”

“I was there on my own.”

“Oh, were you?” Buffy asked with some incredulity.

“She’s, she’s a Slayer, love.” Spike muttered. “She was following them. Power Sources, by the way. Not gems. Flesh and blood little children. Which would have been a hell of a nice thing to know about.”

“A Slayer?” Buffy echoed. “I didn’t know there were any here.”

“I keep to myself.” Jade supplied, ignoring Buffy’s answering eye-roll as she looked towards Spike. “I was following one of the ‘Order’, or whatever, a caretaker of the Orphanage here. She took five children, loaded them up in the van. She met another, there, and the two of them opened up a portal. It took the children, and them. I got hurt, they trapped us here, and left. Don’t know where they went.”

“We’re working on it. We hoped to stop them _before_ they made it through, but I guess we’ll have to rethink it.” Buffy sighed, looking back to Spike. “We’ll make the trip to San Francisco now. Willow’s working with the Coven. We’ll tell them what we know, and hopefully unravel this mess.” She looked back towards Jade. “You stay here. I’ll have one of the other teams pick you up when we have time, add you to the ranks. If you can handle it.”

“No.” Jade said, as Buffy was already turning away. The blonde stopped, narrowing her green eyes as she looked back at the other slayer. “I’m not interested in joining. I’ll come with you, now. I know the children, and I want to get them back. That’s it.”

Buffy laughed, shaking her head, while Spike shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Buffy seemed on a short string today, itching for a fight. “That’s not how it works around here.”

“I have the inside scoop.” Jade declared, her hand leaving the support of the bed as she stepped away from it, slowly.

“You can barely stand,” Buffy retorted, having now noticed the blood, both on her arm, and what could be glimpsed through the rips in her shirt. “Looks like you’re out of this fight.”

“Look. I just want to help. These power sources, or whatever, they are kids. And I know them. They don’t deserve this. I’ll stay out of the way. But I want to be there, when it goes down.”

“Buffy, love, perhaps she can help.” Spike spoke up, though not too many minutes ago he was having the same doubts himself. She had been hurt, badly, the mystery slayer. But her strength through the pain was commendable, keeping clear-headed and cool despite the blood running out of her veins. If she worked to give him her blood, they’d still be chained up in that building. She’d be dead, but she was alive now, as evident by her blazing blue eyes. Her body was weak, but her spirit, at least, seemed somewhat resilient.

“Shut up, Spike.” Buffy snapped. “Look. You’re not in any condition to do anything. You wouldn’t last two minutes in a fight.”

“You’d be surprised.” Jade spoke as she ambled her way over to the two of them, disregarding Buffy’s scoff.

“Fine. Let’s put it to the test, shall we. If you’re not unconscious in two minutes of fighting with me, you can come.”

“Buffy.” Spike’s warning growl sounded, which the blonde ignored, looking haughtily back at Jade.

“Deal.” Jade acquiesced.

“Okay, then.” Buffy spoke in a sickly-sweet voice, glancing down at her watch. “And. Now.”

Spike shook his head, frustrated, as the two slayers began to circle each other. They were going to destroy his apartment. If Buffy didn’t beat the already wounded Slayer to a bloody pulp first. Probably both.


	8. Chapter Seven

**7**

Slayer stubbornness and arrogance. It seemed pretty inherent to her, despite her choices to try to leave that all behind. And it was the reason for now, a showdown with the most senior, easily strongest slayer in the world. Buffy Summers. Jade had been told about her, had been educated, at least loosely. She’d been aware of them, and after all the Potentials in the world had been activated, Jade knew that they were being gathered, for the Slayer Organization. And after Jade had turned from her slayer ways, she had run in the other direction. Which she should be doing now, let Buffy leave with Spike, as she wanted to do, and return home to her apartment. Have a long shower, wash the blood off that caked her skin, lie in bed until her body didn’t hurt so badly. But what was she still doing here for? Duty? She’d thrown that off a while ago, and she was in no hurry to go slinking back. For the children? When she was around them she could barely stand them. She avoided them, both in her mind and her physical presence. She hadn’t given a damn about them before today. Because of her dream? Far as she knew, the same one wouldn’t keep recurring. Why not just hit the snooze then, let someone else worry about it. Was it that slayer arrogance again, assuming she needed to be apart of this because she was the one who dreamt it? Maybe they all dreamt it. Maybe there was nothing special about her, nothing at all, no reason to fight this fight.

For the rush, then? She felt it now, the inevitable adrenaline pumping through her veins as she stared back at Buffy. Buffy the venerable Slayer, who walked in here with a heap of sass and a lack of patience. Perhaps that was what they were all like. Fast talking egotists who liked flaunting their strength. And Jade definitely felt a lack of that right now. She hadn’t hurt like this in so long. The wooden splinters that could have ended her a lot quicker if they had hit something vital had sunk into her with such simple finesse, ripping through her skin and compassing her body with ripples of pain. She’d been invaded, again, by agony. She thought if she had turned and ran from the Slayer life maybe she could avoid it. Lie low, for the rest of her life. Never feel like this again. Fat chance, apparently.

But maybe that was a good thing. Her heart beat solidly beneath her breast, her tattooed chest, the emblazoned red ‘V’ that became visible when she let go of her tattered shirt, raising both of her fists to match Buffy’s. The blonde had it out for someone, today, that was for sure, and Jade was going to be the unlucky duck that waltzed in. But groveling wasn’t her style, even now. A Slayer thing, or her, she didn’t know. Her stomach throbbed, acute agony that pierced her. She had one hand tied behind her back before they even began. _Come on, Jade_ , she berated herself. She had felt worse than this, fought with worse than this, even if she was out of practice. Her chest had began to rise and fall erratically as she circled slowly, the two slayers stepping in a slow circle, knowing Buffy wasn’t going to waste much more time left in her two minutes of grace. Jade was slow, clumsy. Her ankle began to throb traitorously, the least of her wounds, but complaining at her heavy steps, the rotation of her feet.

She focused instead on Buffy. The woman, a few years older than her, stood roughly equal in height. Her blonde hair was pulled back, for the most part, a few choice strands falling in front of her face flawlessly. Jade was made aware of how her own hair had become a long, tangled mess since it was freed from its ponytail, uncombed and wild, loose pieces falling in front of her face in a detrimental manner rather than an elegant one. Buffy’s hair didn’t fall far past her shoulders, but Jade’s would reach her belly button if she let it lay flat, a dark brown, long and inherently curly. They weren’t exactly opposites, but Jade was distinctly aware of Buffy’s comeliness, her bright, commanding green eyes and determined expression, sleek, arching eyebrows and her small but delicately shaped mouth. An unimpressed smirk had wormed its way onto Buffy’s expression, sharing with the bored look in her eyes.

No wonder for Spike’s attraction. That had been overtly obvious from the moment the blonde Slayer had shown up. Jade had only seen a few sides to Spike so far, a dark humor and a deadly seriousness, but that was something she could only describe as… well. Lovesick came to mind, injured and far from over her. His eyes trailed Buffy still, and despite the irritation flashing on his face, he had quieted when she snapped at him to. But as Jade glanced at him with her peripheral, she saw him make the visible effort to change his mood, forcing a shrug as he pulled another cigarette and lit it, feigning nonchalance. He wasn’t going to step in.

That was okay.

“It’s nothing personal,” Buffy assured her. “I’ve just had a re-eally long day. I’m sick to death of Rogue Slayers. Sorry about this, but I got things to do.”

“I’m not—“ The grace period was over. Soon as the words barely left Jade’s lips, the other slayer crossed the small space between them and aimed one hearty kick that hit its mark.

Jade flew across the room, just barely missing the tv as she slammed into the wall. Jade gasped with surprise, falling to her knees. She really hadn’t expected Buffy to choose her weakness first. She felt to her knees, gripping at her stomach, feeling as if it had caved in on her.

“Buffy!” Spike reprimanded roughly.

“What? I told you. I don’t have time for this. Besides, she’ll live. Slayers are tough.” Buffy said, turning away from Jade to look at the platinum-blonde Vampire.

“You put a crack in my wall.”

“Oops.”

Jade leaned her head back, feeling it scrape against the wall. Ow. So that was the power of a Slayer’s kick. She’d done her own, but she’d never been on the receiving end of it before. It hurt. Her whole body hurt, and blackness threatened her vision. She was blood-deprived, wounded, and now her ribs felt as if they were going to bend inward and pierce all her organs.

_Come on_ , Her mind told her. _This isn’t the worst you’ve been hurt_.

She didn’t know if that was true. Oh, she’d had her share of beatings. They weren’t administered by a Slayer’s hand, but they had hurt. All over. And she had almost forgotten how it had felt. _Put it away_ , the whisper told her. She was a Slayer. Getting the absolute shit kicked out of her and still managing to give some back was part of the package deal.

She rose to her feet. She watched Buffy swing her face back towards her. There was some sympathy buried in her green gaze, so deep she almost missed it, but it was the same look that was given to homeless people on the street. ‘Aw, that sucks, but there’s nothing I’m going to do for you.’ “Don’t do it.”

“How many seconds left?” Jade asked. She felt something sticky beneath the hand that gripped at her stomach. She raised it in front of her, seeing the fresh blood that stained her pale skin. Well, at least she still _had_ some blood left in her body. That was a plus.

“Too many.”

“Better not waste ‘em, then.” Tough talk wasn’t her thin. No talk was better, or a couple of words. She wasn’t very articulate. But she had to convince Buffy she was in the game, or the blonde wouldn’t even consider her worth playing with anymore. And she had to earn her way for this. She still didn’t know what motivated her. The kids, Slayer arrogance, good guy persona, or boredom. But there was something, and she’d find out what.

Jade couldn’t wait to take another kick from Buffy—especially since the last one felt like the blonde had held back a little. She launched herself forward, bringing herself into closer range, vying for fisticuffs rather than kicks, but there was no way to avoid the latter. She was slow, her strikes being slapped away by Buffy’s quicker reflexes, unable to land blows of her own, and taking an elbow to the face in recompense. She staggered back, but as Buffy aimed another kick at her, Jade grabbed her by the ankle and swung her towards the kitchen. Buffy hit the fridge, and Jade’s empty jar of water toppled from where it perched on the counter, falling towards the ground and smashing into tiny pieces.

“Oi! You better clean up after this,” came Spike’s exclamation, helpful as his other outbursts had been.

Jade massaged her sore jaw as Buffy shook herself, a smirk on her lips. “Nice throw,” She said brightly, launching herself back towards Jade. She narrowly missed Buffy’s next flip, jumping to the couch to avoid the blow. The TV, however, wasn’t as fortunate, crashing to the floor. Jade caught a glimpse at Spike, whose mouth had dropped open, the cigarette falling to the floor. “My telly! You broke my telly. Bloody Slayers.”

Buffy let out a short laugh, and Jade almost smiled, before leaping from the couch to jump towards Buffy. They rejoined in a flurry of kicks and punches, and though Jade’s speed increased from the clumsy fighting in the beginning, her body was beginning to hurt, something that simply ignoring it wasn’t going to help. She took another strike in the shoulder, a kick to her leg that had her falling to her knee before she rolled out of the way of Buffy’s next kick. Her chest was heaving, breath coming harder to her. The remnants of her shirt were annoying, proceeding to get in her way, so she had shrugged out of it, her chest covered only by her bra. She resisted the urge to glance down and look at her wounds, knowing Buffy wouldn’t give her the chance.

“I’m not a Rogue Slayer.” Jade panted, inbetween trading blows with the blonde.

“You’re not on our side and don’t want to be. What else would you call yourself?” Buffy questioned, blocking Jade’s elbow and shoving her back with a open palm to her chest.

“Out of commission?”

“Temporarily or definite? Because being a Slayer doesn’t just go away. And the fight doesn’t stop because you do.”

“Know that from experience, do you?”

Buffy’s whirling foot caught Jade on the other side of her face, causing the brunette woman to spin by the force of it, and Jade fell to the ground, landing on her elbows as she stared up at the peeved blonde. Who apparently didn’t like observations. But the way the older Slayer spoke _had_ been personal, and she had struck with vehemence. Buffy towered over her, preparing to strike again, when an arm wrapped around her to pull her back. The blonde recoiled immediately, though Spike’s hand still enveloped her wrist.

“Let _go_ , Spike.”

“Time’s up, Buff.” He spoke gentler now, than the exasperation he had shown when his apartment was being trashed. And there were quite a few splinters of things, the two Slayers had been no more gentler to their surroundings than each other. “Two minutes.”

Buffy glanced at her watch, encircled by Spike’s thumb. She looked down at Jade, who still crouched on the ground. Indecision crossed her face for a heartbeat, irritation and then acceptance. She shrugged her way out of Spike’s grip, glaring at him intently until he reluctantly took a step backwards. Even Jade couldn’t ignore the tension radiating between the two of them, and the stares they exchanged were immense. But Buffy looked at the downed Slayer, offering her a hand. Biting back a wince, Jade accepted it with her unwounded arm, though they were both beginning to feel sore. She was pulled to her feet, albeit shakily, where she stood, warily.

“Nice fight.” Buffy said as casually as if they just had a business discussion and she was congratulating Jade on her wiles and not her bruises. But now, as the fight was ebbing, her adrenaline along with it, Jade felt subdued, pain crawling back into her system with vehemence.  “Fine. You come with us now. Maybe you do have some helpful information on the kids. I  hope so. I would hate to see you put them in danger because you insisted being a part of this in your condition.” The blonde couldn’t resist turning snarky in her last remark. Jade had a feeling that Buffy hated the loss of control, even as little to a degree as this, and the fact that her original plan wouldn’t be carried out was smarting. But it didn’t matter. It was what Jade had wanted. She wouldn’t sit in the sidelines and have someone else carry out her battle. She had seen this in her dreams, and there was a reason for that. “Let’s go.” Buffy reiterated, without waiting for Jade’s reply, flouncing towards the doorway. She glanced once at Spike as she did, smiling sweetly. “After this is over, I’ll send you a bill for the damage, okay?”


	9. Chapter Eight

**8**

_I’ll send you a bill for the damage, okay_? He could just wipe that smarmy little grin off of her face. She didn’t feel a damn bit of remorse at all. Those little lips quirking into a smirk normally had his insides all twisting, but the bloody woman had just turned his flat into a destruction zone. Glass, wood splinters—which were _not_ kind to his health—and a smoking box that used to be his telly. Slayers. Buffy in particular, the snobbiest chosen one he ever had the misfortune of meeting. And the way she just walked into his unlife on a little whim. Think she could just waltz in here and curve her little finger and he’d come running. Except he was. He had already gravitated after her a few steps before he realised he was doing it. Jade was still standing behind him, gripping at her stomach. It was all well and good he didn’t look back at her, back at the crimson lines running down her skin. He could _smell_ it though, reminiscent of that sweet, indulging taste. The pig’s blood he had stored in his fridge didn’t help with that craving much, although he sidestepped over there to pull a jar from the fridge, stuffing it into the deep pocket of his black duster coat. Little snack on the way, Buffy’s headquarters in San Francisco was not a short trip, at least a five hour drive. He tried not to groan at the thought, as he watched Jade in his peripheral. She slowly stepped to the couch, hesitantly picking up her jacket and backpack. She had shrugged off the torn pieces of her shirt during the tussle, and he appreciated the view of her now. Covered in blood—he appreciated that of most women. At least, he used to. Not as much anymore. But she was slim, clad in her tan colored bra and blood droplets that stained their way past her bellybutton and down to the top of her jeans.

“Here.” He said, and her gaze looked up, as she was curling the jacket under her arm. She looked up, and he pulled the first shirt from his clothes drawer. It hadn’t quite escaped the ruffle, a piece of the top wood was broken off, as it sat beside the couch, but it had fared better than his TV. He threw her the shirt. It was larger, looser than the t-shirt she had been wearing, and was a dark black. Her expression was sober, but she nodded with gratefulness. He turned from her then, heading up the stairs where Buffy had disappeared. This apartment building wasn’t exactly a glamorous one, but the rent wasn’t all that bad. It was a demon-hole, for the most part, but there weren’t too many explosions or grisly decapitations to make note of. There was a tender balance in Haven between chaos and peace. It wasn’t just demon vs humans, which  was probably why Haven existed without being a blood bath. Far too many players made sides impossible. It was a tenuous strain, but Spike was starting to like it. No badness or goodness, just a place for him to kick his feet up and relax. Hell, he hadn’t even paid his rent since he’d been there, poker nights with the landlord made sure of that. It was simpler, and he liked it, instead of this save the world crap Buffy was always hurling after him. How many times did he have to save it anyway, before he got a break. A good one, not these little halfsies he kept getting teased with.

He looked over once more at his apartment, muttering a “Bugger” underneath his breath. What a mess. Jade stepped out into the hallway, and he closed the door behind her, without bothering to lock the damn thing. Nothing in there of value now. He watched Jade as she looked down the dilapidated hallway.

“I don’t remember seeing any of this before.” She commented, as they made their way down the hall and up the stairs. She was leaning heavily towards the wall, and he noticed her relief when she reached the handrail—letting go of it just as quickly when she saw it wasn’t enough to hold her weight at all, hanging dangerously off of its mount. So it wasn’t a particularly well-made building. He wasn’t Angel, he didn’t live in the high digs of fancy penthouses.

“Well, you were rather unconscious darling.” He drawled. “Holes in you will do that. Didn’t stop you from going one on one with Black Mamba.”

“Yeah.” Jade winced. “Sorry about your place.” She looked at him, sympathy in her blue eyes, but he shrugged.

“Nothing can do about it now.” They stepped up the stairs in silence, up to the entrance where Buffy was standing, waiting. She held the door open already, and the bright lines of sunlight were very visible. With a sigh, he pulled his jacket up over his head. He definitely couldn’t be riding his bike there, he’d burst into flames long before that. He’d often had people point out how riding a motorcycle limited him to the night if he wanted wheels, but hell, vampires should be used to it by now. Tinted windows were a luxury they sure as hell didn’t have fifty years ago. Besides, he looked cool as hell.

As he stepped into the sunlight, he grit his teeth at the starting sizzle. But there, at the sidewalk sat a van, a black Volkswagen Transporter type. “In the back,” Buffy directed them, stepping to the front passenger seat. Spike didn’t waste time, stepping to the back of the van before Jade did, stepping into the back as two girls opened the doors. The girls quickly backed off to the other end of the van, closer to the front. There was no seats in the back of the van, a couple of blankets and a _lot_ of weapons. He rested on the carpeted floor, letting his jacket fall back off of his head as he sat back in the shadows, relieved. Yeah, so he was an older vampire and didn’t quite burst into flames in a second, but that didn’t mean he liked cooking. Jade appeared at the back of the vehicle, taciturn as she glanced at the slight step-up she’d have to make. Pursing his lips together, he extended his hand for her.

“Thanks.” Her mask twisted for a brief second of pain, her strong grasp evident on his fingers as she stepped up into the van. With a relieved sigh, she rested her back to the other side of the van, and after an order from front, the two closed the doors and the van started up. They heard Buffy’s voice, but she was speaking on to the phone. No doubt to Willow, although the roar of the engines and sitting at the back of the van made it hard for even Spike’s remarkable hearing to pick it up.

“Yeah, no. He didn’t get it. The sources, though. They’re children. Work on what you have, and we’ll be there in a couple hours.” Buffy’s voice continued, and Spike glanced sideways at the two girls in the back of the van with them. He didn’t recognize them or the one driving, but he had little doubt that they were Slayers. Slayers everywhere. They seemed young, even younger than Jade, but it was hard to tell how old the wounded slayer was. She was leaned back against the van as it moved now, her eyes closed, trying not to grimace at each bump the vehicle experienced.

“You’re Spike.” One of the young Slayers spoke after a couple of heartbeats. She was Indian, with caramel colored skin and brown hair pulled into a bun. She wore rings of makeup around her eyes, dark eyeliner and mascara, with bright red lips that were pulled into a smile as she looked at him with awe and intrigue. Her companion was just as young, a much lighter blonde with blue eyes, who openly stared at him, except whenever he made eye contact. “I’m Samah, and this is Ashley.” Ashley smiled and waved shyly. Spike bit back a sigh. Great, fangirls. This was going to be a long trip.

“Right. Pleasure. Do you kiddies have a first aid kit around or something?” There were crates of things, but he wasn’t about to look through them himself. He saw the back of Buffy’s head bob up and down as she continued to speak in the phone. She hadn’t even looked back at  him once. Well, what did he care. He didn’t care. Just ignore him then, that didn’t matter. He was busy, that’s what he was. Too busy to care about that.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Samah continued to gush, gesturing with her eyes to Ashley, who nodded vigorously and began looking through one of the crates. She pulled a first-aid box from it, which was snagged from her finger tips by Samah, giving Spike a coquettish smile as she handed him the box. “Are you hurt?” She asked with sympathy, and Spike raised his eyebrows with a sigh. They hadn’t even looked to the half-conscious woman beside him, in fact their eyes had barely left him.

“Just a sizzle.” He faintly heard Buffy’s command of “Down, girls” though it was the voice of a stern commander, no hint of the jealousy she had displayed earlier. And she _had_ displayed it. But obviously, she didn’t think much of the crushes of teenage girls. Spike looked across from him at the woman who had caused Buffy to lash out.

She wasn’t pretty, in a traditional sense. Jade was naturally pale, even more so with her blood loss. Not so much as freckles, but a couple of darker blemishes, mostly on her cheek. She had a slim, oval shaped face. And there were so many colors in it, transparent under her pale skin. Her cheeks were a vivid red, most of the time, a dark purple under her eyes, yellow and green from the bruises Buffy had left on her sleek jawline. Her nose was thin, but round at the end. There was nothing particularly beautiful about her match of features, but her lips were full, a raspberry red, and when her eyes opened, her blue gaze was particularly mesmerizing. Unlike the two Slayers giggling and staring at him, she didn’t have a speck of makeup on her skin, which attributed to her youthful appearance. But she looked weary now, and he could see the slight lines, noting she was at least twenty, though she could likely pass for younger than that. Her eyes were still closed, but as Spike opened the container and began to rifle through it for bandages, her eyes flickered open to watch him.

“Well you bled through the last bandages. So now I gotta do it all over again,” He scoffed at the guilty gratitude in her expression, which disappeared at his words. She made a light face.

“It’s alright. I deserve it. Arrogance.”

“Just lift up your shirt, Bloody Mary.” It was true, she’d gone and mucked up his last patch up job, but she was hurting, he could tell. In the old days he wouldn’t give a damn, but things had changed. He wasn’t going to let her wallow in hurt just because she felt she ‘deserved’ it. He looked at her, rising his eyebrows in impatience before she nodded. She shrugged out of her jacket, rolling up the shirt she had donned only moments before. It was black, like most—but not all—of his clothes were. She rolled it up to her chest, displaying her torso.  She watched him, her eyes half-lidded, as he pulled the first bandage from her skin. It was bled through, though no longer fresh. It might actually heal up if Jade kept out of fights with Slayers. There was a dark bruise beside the wound, and he brushed it with his fingers. She shuddered in answer, her hands curling into fists.

“Your ribs might be broken,” Spike told her.

“Just bruised. I know the difference.”

“Get your ass kicked a lot, do you?” Not that Spike could talk. The beatings he had suffered over his unlife, well, they were a pain and a half. He had looked far worse than her, more than one. But, mortal wounds like the ones she had now weren’t as life threatening to him as they were to her. Not unless it was a stake to his heart or his head removed, or set on fire.

“You could say that.” She breathed shallowly, and there was no humor in her eyes. “You’re getting plenty of practice with bandaging today.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” He scoffed. This was turning into a regular chore for him. Since he had carried her into his apartment, he seemed to be stuck in the role of nursemaid.

“I appreciate it. Really.”

“Save your appreciation. You owe me a new telly.” The way he said it was sulky, like a teenager, and didn’t exactly invoke the somber effect. Jade smiled unexpectedly, the first grin he’d seen on her.

“Deal. Not a big one, though. I’m not made of money.”

“High bloody def.”

Jade laughed that time, although it trailed off in a wince after Spike reapplied the bandage. “So you work for the Slayers, then? Or just Buffy?” She asked, after a moment’s pause.

“I don’t work for anyone. They occasionally bully me into wearing the white hat.” He spoke shortly. Slayers and Buffy were the last things he wanted to talk about. Jade fell silent, her gaze searching his expression.

“I get that.” She spoke after a moment, and he shrugged impassively. Yeah, she didn’t seem overly wanting to go off and join the little slayer army, but she was here, wasn’t she? For the one gig, but soon she’d see the whole operation and choose to stay. It was the always the same with those Slayer types. Spike redressed the rest of her wounds in silence, tossing the used bandages in a plastic bag enclosed within the first aid kit, closing it with a snap. Jade tugged her shirt back down, nodding gratefully towards Spike. He was hungry now, pulling the jar from his pocket. He hadn’t had any blood since, well, Jade’s. And that had only been a little taste. His mouth watered at the memory. Human blood was so much more satisfying than pig’s blood, and slayer’s blood, well that took it up a notch. He heard the disgusted gasp from the girls, a light ‘ew’ as he put the jar to his lips, drinking quite steadily despite the moving vehicle. What? He was hungry. And he was a vampire, damnit. It didn’t matter if it was disturbing to others, it was damn well natural to him.

And he was always very fond of making a scene.


	10. Chapter Nine

**9**

It wasn’t the most comfortable seat in the world. In fact it wasn’t a seat at all, just the kind-of carpeted bottom of an old van. And no seatbelt meant she was getting jarred around at every little turn. Still, a seatbelt would probably hurt more than it was worth, especially where it would strap her. And she was quite happy to be unrestricted, especially with how her upper body _hurt_. Buffy had struck her hard, even holding back a little. Her ribs definitely hurt, even with Spike’s light touch skimming her skin. Her cheeks flushed a little, with the contact. There was an intimacy about him touching her bare skin, and she hadn’t felt that intimacy in a long while.

Though it was definitely made less private by the two slayers sitting with them in the back of the vehicle. There wasn’t much between them, only a few crates and a couple of feet, and they made no effort to hide their prying eyes. Still, where else would they look? And though Jade couldn’t discern the words they spoke to each other, she could hear the impact of their whispers and giggles to each other. She was thankful to pull her shirt back down to cover herself. Though it was doubtful they were whispering much about her—or even cared to notice her with Spike sitting right there, she felt vulnerable, and shy. Perhaps that was due to Spike’s presence as well, because he was certainly making her feel that way each time he came close, even when it was to help. And why was he helping her, still? Was it to make Buffy jealous? The blonde had certainly reacted to Jade being in Spike’s apartment, and the gazes between the vampire and the slayer had not gone amiss. Definitely a history then, but as Jade even tried to approach it, Spike had shut down. He covered his discomfort with humor or anger, but now he was simply quiet, and Jade regretted she had inadvertently ended their smalltalk by starting with something Spike didn’t want to discuss. She had sounded judgemental about it too, hadn’t she. But she was simply curious. Certainly it fell into her theory, but she didn’t have the whole story, and she wanted to.

But he was slurping his blood with vehemence, and she saw the expression on the girls’ face, which had turned from admiration to displeasure. Jade brushed the strands of hair from her face, searching in her backpack for a hairband, with which she pulled her hair into a bun, grateful to have it finally away from her face. She was missing a few things though, the bow she had dropped at the stone building, as well as her motorcycle. She definitely had to go back for those things, at least the latter. When this was all over. After she met the rest of the gang, she supposed, and convinced them to let her fight this, to bring those kids back. She looked back at the teenage girls, who were still murmuring among themselves.

“So you’re Slayers, then?” Jade broke in, and the girls stopped uncertainly, tearing their eyes away from Spike to look at her reluctantly. The one named Ashley nodded her head, while Samar smiled more proudly.

“That’s right.”

“You seem sort of young…”

“I’m not young. I’m almost seventeen. Ashley’s turning seventeen just a couple months after that. And we’ve been at the Slayer Institution for over a year now, after Xander found us. We’ve lived with the San Francisco group ever since.”

“You left home?”

“Of course. Duty over security, you know?”

“That, and our parents live just ten minutes away on the other side of the city. I go to her parent’s for Sunday night dinners.” Ashley chirped up for the first time, cowering a little under Samar’s answering glower.

“And who’s Xander?” Jade asked, in distraction and curiosity.

The both of them smiled, Ashley a little more dreamily. “He’s a Watcher,” the blonde answered, while Samar rolled her eyes.

“She was heartbroken when he moved to the Toronto Squad with Dawn.”

“Was not,” Ashley protested.

“So you’ve been with the Slayers for a year then?” Jade was starting to feel older already, The sad part was, it reminded her of the few times she had been at the orphanage. The children loved to vie for attention. Neva, the most. Not because the young girl particularly needed attention, but she had taken to Jade with a strong affection Jade couldn’t quite shake. She ignored Spike’s not-so quiet burp in the corner, refraining from turning towards him, but seeing him tilting his head back, probably deciding to take a nap now that his belly was full. She found her gaze start to linger, before shaking her head and turning her attention fully back to the girls. She wanted information, this was her time to get it. Music was playing in the front of the band, and Buffy was speaking quietly to the woman driving the van, not that Jade was overly eager to talk to Buffy. The blonde didn’t like her much, and she doubted she’d be as free with answers.   

“That’s right. This here’s our first mission, too. Buffy chose _us_ to investigate the sites.” Samar answered, boasting.

“Sites?”

“Like the one by your town. There was … four more I think? They were all over the place. Well, in the States. The last one was near Phoenix, but they were long gone. I mean, I get that those Seers in the coven are all seeing and everything, but if they were just a little quicker, maybe we could have gotten them, you know? But it looks like this whole thing has just been a waste of time. Now we’re just heading back to San Francisco again. A big circle of nothing.”

“And there they’re going to find out how to recreate the portals that the Order did?”

Samar shrugged. “I guess. Willow’s there, so if anyone can figure out, she can. She’s pretty powerful, for a witch. It’s just annoying this ‘mission’ was such a bust.”

“You should be thankful you weren’t there.” Jade contradicted with a wince. She looked over at Spike, whose eyes remained closed. He had been hurt too, struck in the shoulder, but it’d heal quickly enough. Maybe even faster than her own wounds. Not to mention, the amount of times he had been tossed down the stairs and into the wall. But it didn’t even seem to slow him down. Perks of being a vampire, she supposed. She was unnerved that his chest didn’t rise and fall as he napped, but she knew vampires didn’t need to breathe. But he was just so… still. It gave her a chance to just look at him. Samar and Ashley had long dissolved back into their whispered conversation, and the back of the van was ignored by Buffy and her driver. The drive wasn’t a short one, and pain and exhaustion eventually lulled her to sleep. This time, instead of pure blackness, she dreamed. It was hazy, erratic flashes. She was running, leaping and falling at one point when she felt hands like manacles wrap around her arms.

Her eyes opened to see Spike, steadying her as he propped her back up in a sitting position.

“You were falling,” He said gruffly. Jade blinked groggily.

“Thanks. Hitting my head would just be the cherry on top, I guess.” So she had been asleep, for a while, and she blinked hard to clear her eyes. Spike was still there, steadying her, and she found her breathing a tad constricted. With an odd look at her, he released her, settling back down against the opposite wall. He seemed awake, and she wondered for how long.

“We’re almost there, anyway.” He drawled as he leaned back. It was darker now, without even the filtered lights from the front of the vehicle. She knew Spike could see her much clearer than she could see him, with the dark clothes he wore, he blended in quite well to the shadows, although his paler skin and white blonde hair were the exception. “Did you have a good sleep, Van Winkle?”

“Yeah. At least, it was an actual sleep, and not brought on by blood loss.” Jade scoffed. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her just how long it had been since she had eaten.

“There’s fruit-y bars in that crate over there,” Spike nodded to a box over on Jade’s right. She looked at him in surprise, and then realised he could probably hear her stomach growl, and smell the food, even if he didn’t eat it himself. She reached for it, grinding her teeth at the pain in her torso, but it wasn’t. She pulled a piece out, ripping off the plastic covering and taking a large bite.

“You’re quite a prattler in your sleep.”

Jade rose her head warily, though she shrugged casually. “Yeah. I always have.”

“Make you nervous? You talk a lot, too. Full on monologues. Bloody lengthy.”

“Anything good?” Jade allowed herself a humorous smile.

“Not as good as Shakespeare. Ha! I’m kidding. Ponce didn’t know a thing about poetry. Well, he did. But there are better, you know.”

Jade shook her head with amusement, panic dissipating. She knew she spoke in her sleep of course, she’d been told. She was always curious, but she didn’t have many inhibitions when she wasn’t awake, and she could had said just about anything. Even when prophecies weren’t hacking into her dreams, they were discombobulated and strange. She stuffed the rest of the bar in her mouth, chewing quickly when the van took a sharp curve and then slowed, coming to a stop.

“We’re here, Dorothy.” Spike spoke to her, his expression impassive, although she could see a slight discomfort.

“Sun’s gone down. Everybody out,” Buffy ordered from the front. Spike sighed lightly, and then in tandem, he and Jade opened the doors. She held onto the van as she heaved herself out onto the pavement. It was past the sunset, as Buffy had said, but only just. Violet rays still made their way through the sky. She felt like she had lost a whole day, but it was more the apprehension that the kids were still trapped in the other dimension, if they were alive. The words chain and drain came to mind, and not in a happy way. They were running out of time. If they hadn’t already.

Spike bounced onto the ground next to her, a sneer on his face as he straightened. “Home sweet home.”

She followed his gaze, surprised to see what looked like, well a hotel. There was a large parking lot, partially enclosed by trees, a garden that sprawled around it. It was several stories high, four, with a courtyard that extended behind it. “Oh, it’s nice.”

“Willow’s idea. Well, Angels Investigations used to be run in a hotel, so she got that idea for that. And then Wolfram & Hart bought it for us as kind of a treaty thing. Well, Angel did.” Samar explained as she tumbled out of the van with Ashley. It wasn’t much of an explanation, for Jade was more confused than if Samar hadn’t said anything at all, but she shrugged.

“Oh goodie. Can’t wait to catch up with the gang.” Spike rubbed his hands against each other in fake glee.

“How many of you are there?” Jade asked Samar, who shrugged.

“About a hundred, although more or less at any given time. People go in and out a _lot_.  This is the base of Slayers for the whole east coast, so we got a lot of newbies, and anyone coming in to report. Like Willow and Kennedy. They were heading things in Scotland, but they came back to the States for the last mission, and now this.”

She was learning a lot of names, a few to many to catch up, but she nodded. Buffy walked around from the van. Her alluring gaze stopped first on Spike, who looked around unimpressed. “Willow’s waiting. Girls, go report to Vi, get yourselves some supper, and get an early night. Be rested, and ready.” The girls nodded at Buffy’s instruction, walking off with the third Slayer who had been driving. Buffy looked back at Spike and Jade. “Come on. Maybe you can give some useful information about the kids that were taken.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Jade said solidly, not missing Buffy’s narrowing of her eyes as she stalked off towards the entrance. Buffy would have been willing to leave her in Haven, but Jade _did_ have information, and leaving her would have been a mistake.

Spike whistled. “Careful. Don’t want to start another fight. Although it would be fun to watch.”

“I’ll behave.” Jade said with light amusement. She was stiff, but no longer wrought with pain, and for the most part, managed to keep up with Spike and Buffy as they strode across the parking lot. They stepped through the glass doors, opening to within. It wasn’t particularly fancy, and almost normal looking within. But it was a large place, and if it housed as many people as Samar had claimed, a hotel was perfect.

In the middle, two women stood waiting, close together. One was native American, with bold dark eyes, and defined cheekbones that inadvertently reminded Jade of Spike’s. His were certainly elegant, their pronounced curve and indent. She shook her head slightly, impatiently, to look at the slightly taller woman standing there as well, with copper red hair that fell just past her collarbone. Of the two, she looked friendlier, giving Buffy a warm smile, and looking over at Jade with affable curiosity.

“Glad you’re back.” The redhead said to Buffy, her lighthearted expression reverting to one more of somber concern. “Hi Spike. You made it.” Her eyebrows raised with a easy grin.

“Well I didn’t have much choice. Especially after you made your plea in my telly, Willow. My poor telly.” Spike muttered under his breath.

“Have you found out how to get into the dimension after the Order?” Buffy cut in, restlessly. Willow shook her head reluctantly.

“Giles is working on finding the exact portal they used. The coven’s ready, for the most part. They just need to know where to open the portal to, and well, how to protect you from what’s on the other side.”

“And how much time do we have left?” Buffy questioned. They began walking, and Jade followed silently. She saw Willow’s companion look at Jade with narrowed eyes, slight suspicion, but said nothing as they stepped out of the main lobby and into a side room—a meeting room, rather, with a long table and chairs. There were already heaps of books out, opened, three more young women sitting there, reading, and didn’t even look up as the others entered.

“Uh… one of the books that mentioned them said they need a whole day to prepare. If that’s in our hours or their dimension hours, we don’t quite know.” Willow said, slightly flustered.

“It’s written in the normal language of ‘obscure as hell’,” The native American woman supplied, disgust in her voice.

“Well, these two were here. They can tell you about the portal, and those it took. I’m getting on the phone with Giles. We can’t waste much more time.” Buffy declared.

“We haven’t been wasting it,” Willow’s shorter companion declared, though Willow reached out with her hand, touching her in comfort.

“We’ll get it done, Buffy.” Willow promised her.

“I certainly hope so. If it’s another one of those end-of-the-world options, I’ve had more than my fill.” Spike commented dryly. Buffy looked at him, her gaze lingering for a heartbeat before turning back through the swinging doors, letting them close behind her.

“Well.” Willow said in the silence, her lip twitching in a slight show of discomfort. “I’m Willow, by the way.”

“Jade,” She shook Willow’s hand as it was offered.

“And I’m Kennedy.” The dark haired woman added in.

“Great. Now that we’re all introduced, you all hit the books, will you. Get me something physical to punch.” Spike sat down on one of the chairs. Kennedy rolled her eyes at him, before taking her own seat. “Buffy said that that didn’t work all that great for you.”

“Well, if miss Red here sent me after the physical type, and not magic mojo people, I might have been able to do something. Instead they just threw me around like a rag doll with their hocus pocus. It was bloody fun. Not.”

“We’re working on that.” Willow assured him. She sat down next to Kennedy, and motioned for Jade to as well. “Sit down. You seem a bit shaky.”

“Tell us what you remember of the portal,” Kennedy ordered in  the next breath, as soon as Jade sat down at the table.

“Eh. Green. Lightning. Held open for a couple minutes.” Spike shrugged, crossing his fingers behind his head.

“Any of the words they used to open it?” Willow asked.

“Do I look like I speak latin?”

“They ended the spell with Aperta Porta.” Jade supplied, and Willow nodded, her face skewed up in thought.

“That narrows it down, a little. Pretty general stuff, but. I wish we had Fred.” Willow added in a quiet off-note.

“Well, she’s gone, isn’t she. So handle it without her.” Spike said, a little brusquely.

“Watch your mouth, Vamp.” Kennedy snapped, her eyes blazing. “We’ve been doing all we can. You’re the one who let them go.”

“What?” Spike’s eyebrows raised in angry surprise, contempt in his burning blue gaze. “I didn’t have a bloody clue of what I was up against. You gits sent me in there without barely a flight plan.”

“We told you everything we knew.” Willow answered quietly.

“Which wasn’t bloody anything!”

“How did you find about this enough to try to stop it, anyway?” Jade interrupted.

“One of the seers in the coven had a vision, and we found a prophecy, a very obscure one to back it up. We’ve been figuring this out as we’ve gone alone.” Willow said with a sigh. “We could have delayed this… conflict if we had found the power sources before they gathered it. Which we didn’t find out until they basically gathered them all. Now that they’re gone, we’re back to trying to find them before we can even stop them. And they’re strong, now. After the ritual they’ll be highly powerful. Maybe even invulnerable.”

“Does who they took help?”

“Yeah. Maybe. They were taken from an orphanage, right?”

Jade was nodding when Spike rose to his feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Kennedy demanded.

“Going for a walk. No need to pick my brain when you got hers. I don’t know a thing about the kids they took.”

“You  could at least pretend to be interested—“ Kennedy protested, and Willow placed her hand on the woman’s arm. “It’s fine.” Willow soothed. “Just stay nearby.” She told Spike with a seriousness in her green eyes. Spike shrugged, waltzing out of the room. Jade followed his figure until it disappeared.

“He’s just going off to stalk Buffy, probably.” Kennedy muttered.

“That’s fine. Well, not fine. We got other things to worry about,” Willow corrected in increasing agitation. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Five kids. The orphanage, like the town, is full of strange… things. One kid’s half demon. Another one’s a full Brachen demon. But the ones they took, they all have one thing in common. All come from magical families, in their blood.”

“Potential witches.” Willow said.

“Wait a minute,” Kennedy frowned. “That doesn’t matter. Willow doesn’t have a lick of magical blood in her family and she’s the strongest witch in the world. So why these kids, then?”

“Well—“ Jade started, but Willow was speaking first.

“That’s true, sweetie. But it’s in their blood, gives them like, a head start. Most of the time. There’s still some magic there, and that’s what they wanted.”

“How do you know all this about them?” Kennedy asked Jade suspiciously then, looking up at her. “Did you work at the Orphanage with them?”

“No. I just babysat from time to time. It’s a small town.” She added to Kennedy’s raised eyebrow. “I was bored, and I like to not be in the dark, so I read their files, once.”

“And you just happen to remember the information?”

Jade bit back the impulse to roll her eyes. “Yes.” She stated simply. She risked a look at Willow, who looked more contemplative than distrustful.

“And they’re all from magic families? You’re sure?” The redheaded woman asked inquisitively, as Kennedy grumbled to herself, not keeping her black eyes off of Jade. Jade had the feeling that the two of them were a couple, and while she felt herself immediately falling to Willow’s accepting, easy-going attitude, Kennedy was the protective one. It didn’t matter. Jade didn’t have anything to hide, and she was here to help.

“Yeah. That’s what the files said, anyway. The one on the youngest, Sophie’s probably the barest. She’s about four years old, dropped off as a newborn, basically. That one, apparently her mother was killed by demonic possession on her twentieth birthday. She was dropped off on the doorstep.”

Jade saw Willow’s eyes widen in something akin to distress and memory. “What’s the last name?” Willow asked slowly.

“Of Sophie? Uh. Mc…Maclay? It was on her birth certificate, I guess, she didn’t have much else.”

She watched the distress escalate  to anguish and disbelief, Willow’s wide green eyes staring at her, or through her, rather, lost in her own head. “Maclay?” Willow repeated, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Tara?”


End file.
